


Dragon Sole

by ScorpioSkies



Series: Dragon Sole [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Fallout 4
Genre: Brotherhood of Steel - Freeform, Child Death, Crossover, Daedra, Dragons, F/M, Imperials, Imprisonment, Interrogation, Love Triangle, Parallel Universes, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Stormcloaks, Thalmor, The Institute (Fallout), The Minutemen - Freeform, Torture, Violence, Werewolves, non-consensual nudity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2020-07-12 04:40:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19940353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScorpioSkies/pseuds/ScorpioSkies
Summary: The Prydwen has disappeared from the sky, the Institute has fallen silent and the Commonwealth is plagued by new, mysterious beasts and freak radstorms that empty entire settlements. Without the guidance and assistance of her Brotherhood mentors, Nora Hart struggles to lead the Minutemen in defending the Commonwealth from these new threats.After suffering an attack from one of the new monsters, she is struck down by a strange affliction - and then she encounters a black book that spirits her away to another universe.A universe on the brink of a prophecy, where rages of dragons rule the skies, the land of Skyrim is torn asunder by civil war and those thought dead live on in a different lifetime.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Dragon Sole! This fic has been a long time coming, and I'm very excited to start publishing it! The story can get very dark at times, but will also have plenty of fluff and silly shenanigans later on, as per all my works! Please ensure you've checked the tags before reading to ensure this is a story you will be comfortable reading, and be aware that more tags will be added as I continue writing! 
> 
> Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you enjoy! 💖
> 
> Very special shout out to my Wombats for reading over this and providing your insight! Love ya! 💖💖💖

Nora had seen the bodies of civilians before. It was a fact of life in the wasteland, one that she had been forced to get used to - but that didn’t make it any easier. Especially when the blood of these people stained her hands.

Pre-war, Starlight Drive-In’s meat locker had been a storage room. Now, it was a morgue. 

The light bulb flared in the windowless room and Nora’s breath caught. Eight bodies were laid out, five on the concrete floor and three on the butchering tables. They were wrapped in bloodstained blankets and sackcloth. 

Her eyes fell on two bodies, lying side by side on a table. One was an adult, their boots visible from where they poked out beneath the blanket. The other was much smaller. A hubflower had been laid upon each body. A teddy bear leaned against the child’s. 

Nora could feel her eyes growing hot in the cold. 

She braced her hands on the edge of the table, unable to look away. “Who were they?” 

There was a beat before Manzini, Captain of Starlight’s Minutemen garrison, answered. 

“That was Lukas and his little girl, Alice. We think Alice sneaked out of the house looking for her cat and the beast got her. Lukas heard her screaming and there was no holding him back. By the time we got there, they…” 

Manzini’s voice cracked. 

“It’s alright. There’s nothing you could have done.” 

Nora glanced up at Preston’s words to see her second-in-command gripping the Captain’s shoulder. She looked away again, back at Alice’s hidden body. 

Manzini and his men couldn’t have done anything more. But she could have made a difference. If she and her reinforcements had gotten to Starlight sooner, there might have been fewer bodies on the floor. 

The air grew colder as she thought of another loving father who had sacrificed himself to protect their child. 

Nora reeled away from the table and marched outside, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her coat. 

The derelict pre-war cinema screen reared up above her, casting deep shadows over Starlight’s streets as the afternoon faded into dusk. She too was swallowed by the shade as she made her way towards the Minutemen barracks. 

Ramshackle structures clustered on the fractured concrete, strings of lightbulbs bobbing from where they hung suspended between the buildings. Most windows were shuttered and the doors barred, their owners seeking refuge elsewhere. Nora hunched her shoulders and walked faster, slowing only when she neared the Minutemen barracks by the settlement entrance. 

The few settlers stubborn enough to remain mingled with her militiamen, lounging around the pre-war concession stand at the base of the movie projector tower. The barracks were constructed behind it, connected to the tower by a series of wooden walkways. 

Nora straightened her posture as she passed the loiterers, acknowledging any greetings with a curt nod as she disappeared inside the barracks. By the time she reached the sanctuary of Manzini’s office, her facade was crumbling. 

She leaned back against the door and closed her eyes.

Starlight had put out the call for help over two weeks ago. If she hadn’t been so caught up in chasing leads about the Brotherhood… 

Nora focused on her breathing. Slow, deep breaths. 

She’d learned a harsh lesson the day that she’d woken from cryogenic stasis. She could never go back in time and right past wrongs, but she could push ahead and try to better the future. 

She couldn’t do that if her sanity were stolen away by an emotional riptide however. So, slow, deep breaths.

When Nora felt calmer, she straightened up and walked towards Manzini’s desk. A map of the Commonwealth was unfurled across its surface, the region surrounding Starlight covered in pencilled notes and crosses denoting sightings, attacks and areas of interest. 

Loose sheafs of paper were piled beside it, containing eyewitness accounts, sketches of the beast, post mortem results and speculation. She gathered them into her hands and sank into Manzini’s chair to skim through. 

The creature always attacked at night, but was most active under a full moon. Some believed it was a rabid yao guai on account of its size and shaggy pelt. Others likened it to a hairy deathclaw, citing its use of claws to tear prey apart and the fact that it could sprint on both two and four legs, though it lacked a deathclaw’s distinctive horns and tail. 

The illustrations the settlers had drawn did little to offer her any clarification, though they all depicted similar hulking figures, with long arms and dark, hairy bodies. 

A knock at the door startled her from reading. “Enter.” 

Preston stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Hey. Are you doing okay?” 

Nora swallowed, trying to dislodge the iron ball in her throat. She shrugged. “Doing as well as I can be.”

The floorboards creaked as Preston approached, but Nora didn’t look at him. Instead, her eyes were glued to another illustration in her hand, drawn in a childish scrawl. A woman was crying on the ground as the beast loomed over her with red claws. ‘Mom’ was written above the woman, the ink smudged with water. The paper was taut in her grip. 

“Nora. Look at me.”

She sighed, dropping the papers on the desk as she obeyed. Preston stood on the other side of the desk, his arms clasped behind his back and expression grim. No glimmer of his usual smile. 

Nora pursed her lips. “What?” 

“What happened here isn’t your fault.” 

Nora’s throat tightened and she glanced away, down to the papers. 

“Nora-” 

“I don’t need a therapist right now, Preston. I need a tactician.” The words came out sharper than she had intended. 

“With all due respect, ma’am, what you need is rest.” 

Nora’s head snapped up to find Preston gazing at her, calmly standing his ground. Her eyes narrowed. “Is that so?” 

“You’ve been working non-stop for weeks. If you don’t slow down and take a breath, you’re going to hit your breaking point.” 

“So what do you propose? That I slink off for a holiday in Nuka-World while the Commonwealth burns?” Nora swept her arm over the desk. “The people are depending on us to protect them, Preston!”

“You’re right, they are depending on us. So we have to be able to function.” 

A beat of silence.

“What, exactly, are you trying to say?” Nora asked, her voice dangerously quiet. 

“Look. I’m saying this because I care about you, not just as my General, but as my friend.” Preston straightened up, standing firm. “You haven’t been yourself since the Prydwen disappeared. You barely sleep, you forget to eat… you need to take some time for yourself. Let yourself grieve.” 

Nora slammed her hands on the desk, springing to her feet. “Don’t you talk about them as if they’re dead!” 

Preston didn’t waver under her glare, the only hint of emotion the slightest downturn of his lips. 

Nora’s body shook, her shoulders heaving with each shallow breath. Her eyes prickled with heat and she clenched her jaw, bowing her head before he could see any tears. She raised one hand and pointed to the door.

“Get out.” 

“Ma’am.” Preston gave her a stiff salute and left the room, shutting the door behind him. 

Nora slumped back in the chair, covering her face with her hands. In all the months she’d known Preston, they’d never argued like that, and he’d never questioned her authority. Then again, she had always led the Minutemen with Danse and Maxson’s guidance. 

If they didn’t return soon, she didn’t know how she was going to cope. 

A loud rap at the door startled her back to reality. She took a deep breath and schooled her expression. “Who is it?” 

“Who d’ya think?” a gruff voice replied. 

“Come in.” 

The door flew open and Old Longfellow stomped into the office, Dogmeat racing past him and straight to Nora, tail wagging. Despite her mood Nora smiled, fussing the German shepherd as Longfellow shut the door behind him. The old hunter dropped into a chair across the desk, producing a tarnished hip flask from inside his coat. 

The spicy scent of firebelly permeated the air as he took a swig.

“So?” Nora prompted. “Were you able to find anything?” 

“‘Course I did,” Longfellow grumbled. “I ain’t some two-cap trapper. I found its lair just like I said I would, but the creature wasn’t in it.”

“Excellent!” Nora stood, rolling a pencil across the desk towards him. “I’ll call a meeting. Mark it on the map and we’ll discuss the details after.” 

* * *

  
  


“No.” The word was spoken calmly, quietly, and with it Preston silenced the entire room. 

Nora stared at him, her hand still pointing to the area Longfellow had indicated on the map. The air in the debriefing room began to thicken, charging with the threat of a storm. The gathered militiamen shifted uncomfortably in their seats and Longfellow raised a bushy brow, folding his arms. 

“No?” Nora repeated. The word sounded frail in her own mouth. Weak. 

“No.” Preston said with more emphasis. “Look. You’re eager to finish this mission, I get it. But sending our men out there after dark is just going to get them killed.” 

“I’m not ‘sending’ them out anywhere,  _ Colonel. _ ” Nora snapped, anger flaring at his words. “I’ll be taking the lead.” 

“With all due respect, I think you should belay that,  _ General _ . Venturing into its territory at night is a dangerous tactic that can only result in more losses-” 

“People have been lost almost every night, Garvey! That thing snatches men from the walls-” 

“So what’s it going to do when our men don’t have those walls?” Preston demanded. “When there are no turrets to detect it, and no lights to see it coming? What do you think it’ll do to our men out there?” 

Nora stared at him, the retort dead in her throat. 

“Garvey’s right,” Longfellow broke the glacial silence. “Only fools hunt at night. You’re as likely to break a leg as ya are to be eaten.” 

“It’s lured some of my best people to their deaths,” Manzini added. “Travelling beyond the walls at night will only put us in serious danger.” 

Several of the militia muttered their agreement, their voices fading into white noise as a chill stole over Nora’s body. She saw Preston walk centre stage, his lips moving as he quieted the crowd and gave his own orders. She didn’t hear his words over the ringing in her ears, but all the soldiers watched him with rapt attention, some nodding their approval. 

She swallowed hard, but humiliation retained its chokehold. 

It was Preston who assuaged any concerns and he who dismissed the meeting while she stood there, lost and insignificant in his shadow. By the time reality seeped back in, the soldiers were filing from the room and Preston was shaking Manzini’s hand. 

As the Captain turned to follow his men she swept up to Preston, jerking her head towards the office. “A word.” 

Preston’s face was smooth as stone as he followed her inside. 

The door closed as she circled the desk, trailing one gloved hand across its surface. When it was safely between them she stopped, her hand dropping back to her side as she lifted her chin to glare at him. 

“What was that?” 

“Ma’am?” 

The desk jolted under her fist. “Don’t play stupid with me, Preston! You completely undermined me in front of our men!” 

Finally there was a spark in Preston’s eye. “Well, maybe if you’d thought about discussing your plans with me and the Captain, we could have told you it wasn’t viable in private!” 

“You humiliated me out there!” 

“No. You did that to yourself when you came up with some half-cocked scheme!” Preston snapped. “I lost my entire company back in Quincy, Nora, and I’m not going to stand back and watch it happen all over again because you’re too stubborn to accept the fact that you’re not fit to be the General!” 

Nora’s breath left in a ragged exhale, his words leaving her winded. 

“I’m... I didn’t mean it to come out like that,” Preston sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “I just think that for the time being it might be an idea for you to… step back, just for a while.” 

“I didn’t ask for this.” Nora’s voice trembled, rising with every word. “I didn’t ask to be General! You made me General and all I ever asked for was your support! And now that shit’s hitting the fan, you’re stabbing me in the back?” 

“It’s not like that--” 

“That’s exactly how it is! And you know what, Preston? If you want to be General, then fucking have it! Because clearly I just get people killed!” 

She stalked across the room and out the door, slamming it shut in her wake. Longfellow was sat with Dogmeat in the common room, but he took one look at her face and turned away, taking a swig of his drink as she stalked up the stairs and made her way to the officer’s quarters. 

The room she’d been given was small and cramped, containing a narrow cot, a steamer trunk for her belongings and a desk set beneath shuttered windows. She sank onto the cot and covered her face with her hands, trying to stifle her sobs. 

The mattress sank beside her with a squeak and she looked up just in time for the first of Dogmeat’s kisses, his tongue lapping away her tears. She made to push him away but thought better of it, instead wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his fur. 

By the time her tears stopped, the last ruddy rays of sunset had faded from the gaps in the shutters, leaving the room in darkness. She felt tired and hollow, but the very thought of sleep filled her with dread. She couldn’t bear the thought of another night terror. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to the men if she slept while they took their shifts. 

Ruffling Dogmeat’s fur a final time, she activated her pip-boy lamp and flooded the room with its emerald glare. A few moments later she had the steamer trunk open and was rifling through her gear, producing a bandolier of fusion cells and her laser rifle, which she set carefully on the bed. She trailed her fingers along the name etched into the barrel.  _ Righteous Authority _ . 

A tremulous smile curved her lips, recalling the pride in Danse’s eyes as he had bestowed the rifle upon her. A token of her initiation into Recon Squad Gladius and the Brotherhood of Steel. They had modded it in the months that followed, honing it into one of the finest energy weapons aboard the Prydwen. Even Proctor Ingram had been impressed. 

Her heart ached dully and she returned her attention to the trunk, her hand closing around a black deathclaw hide scabbard. She raised the machete with as much reverence as she had her rifle, one hand gripping the hilt as she unsheathed the blade. 

It was unlike any other she had seen, both pre-war and in the Commonwealth. The blade was a dark metal that absorbed light. It had a flowing shape, covered in serrated edges and sharp points before it ended in a curve like a talon. In the months she’d had it, the machete had proven lethally effective, cleaving through flesh and bone with ease.

It would undoubtedly be of use should she encounter the creature that night. 

Finally she pulled her combat armour from the trunk and shrugged out of her frock coat to fix the pieces in place. They were grimy and dinged up from her time spent out on the road, but they would still offer her greater protection than her clothes alone. She sighed wistfully, longing for her suit of T-60 power armour, gone with the Prydwen. 

Dogmeat whined, snapping her out of her reverie. 

“Don’t worry, buddy. I wouldn’t let you go out there unprotected.” Her voice sounded hoarse and stuffy, so she cleared her throat as she produced the canine armour she had stowed amongst her belongings. The dog vest had been made with ballistic weave, and had a handle on the back to hold him in place should the need arise. The winged sword of the Brotherhood was visible, emblazoned on the side. 

When they were kitted up, Nora led the way outside. 

Night had fallen across the Commonwealth, the streets of Starlight illuminated by moonbeams and floodlights. She made her way to the perimeter wall, checking in with each patrol she encountered along the way. No sightings of the creature so far, though that wasn’t unusual so early in the night. 

Upon reaching the perimeter, she and Dogmeat continued their patrol, checking in with each pair of sentries posted to the guard towers. They were two thirds of the way down the wall when Nora stopped at the foot of a tower, her lips pursed. A lone sentry stood, illuminated by the ruddy glow of her musket. 

Frowning, Nora climbed the stairs to join her. 

“Well,” the sentry drawled, turning to face her. “It’s about damn ti-- oh. General.” 

Nora returned the woman’s hasty salute as she reached the top of the barricade, before sparing a look beyond the perimeter. A few meters from the wall spanned fields of razorgrain, silvered by moonlight.

“Where’s your partner, Private?” Nora asked, turning to face her. 

“I don’t know ma’am -- probably the outhouse. That’s where he said he’d be, but he hasn’t come back.” 

“Then you’d better go check if he’s there and if he’s fit for duty. If not, find either the Captain or the Colonel and inform them. I’ll cover your post in the meantime.” 

“Yes ma’am.” With another salute the soldier turned and clattered down the stairs before disappearing into the settlement. 

A cool breeze blew from behind and Nora turned, watching as the grain rippled silver. Dogmeat stood with his forepaws on the barricade, his nose sniffing the air just shy of the razorwire strung along the top. Aside from the quiet whir of nearby turrets and the occasional snippet of conversation from passing guards, the wasteland was quiet. Tranquil. 

Deceptively so. 

The steps behind her creaked and Nora turned, only to stiffen. She turned her back to Preston as Dogmeat wagged his tail in greeting. A tense silence hung between them, broken only by Dogmeat’s whines for attention. 

“There’s a rule in place that everyone watches in pairs,” Preston said eventually. 

“I’ve got a partner,” Nora muttered, gesturing at Dogmeat. “One who’s actually loyal.” 

“Nora, don’t be like this.” 

Nora glared out into the wasteland, refusing to look at him. Preston shifted on his feet. 

“I can arrange a replacement for you, if you want to get some food and sleep?”

“So first you don't trust me to lead, and now you don't even trust me to stand guard?” Nora snapped, rounding on him with a scowl.

Preston gazed at her for a few moments before his shoulders slumped. “Carry on, then.” 

Dogmeat whined, watching as Preston descended back into the settlement while Nora resumed her watch, stewing with resentment. If Preston had his way, he'd probably have her retire to a quiet life at the ranch in Sunshine. 

Another breeze stirred the grain and as the stalks bowed and swayed she glimpsed something dark amongst them. In seconds her rifle was in hand, but the figure was gone. The hairs along her nape prickled. 

She weighed up whether the threat was real or a case of fatigue and moonshadows. She didn’t want to appear any more incompetent in front of her soldiers than she already did. 

Clouds rolled across the face of the moon, and beyond the spotlights that scanned the perimeter, the wasteland fell into a fathomless dark. At her side Dogmeat froze, ears pricked as his nose pointed beyond the barricade. He growled. 

Nora frowned, leaning over the fortification as she peered into the darkness. 

Moonbeams breached the clouds, briefly shining on the grain before vanishing. She couldn’t see anything-- 

The razorwire twanged. 

Nora glanced down to see eyes of molten gold. She reeled back, heart in her mouth, only for the creature to propel itself up the barricade. It seized her arm with a clawed hand and wrenched her over the edge, tearing her coat on the teeth of the wire. 

The world spun before Nora’s back slammed into the ground. She gasped for air, staring wide-eyed as a massive shape dropped from the barricade beside her. Dogmeat’s frantic barks grew distant as the creature’s muzzle peeled back to show two sets of sharp teeth, saliva dripping from its maws as it rose on its hind legs. 

It snarled, seizing her arm in a crushing grip before surging away. 

The jolt snapped Nora from her transfixion a second too late. Her fingers brushed just shy of where Righteous Authority had fallen as the creature began to sprint even faster, dragging her like a ragdoll in its wake. 

A spotlight blinded her, shining in her eyes and she heard the distinctive whir of the turrets, audible over the panicked shouts of the soldiers. In her mind's eye she saw the barrels rising, fixing their sights upon the creature -- and her.

Bullets rent the air with a burst of gunfire and she screamed, raising her free arm to cover her face. She heard the bullets biting the ground, zipping through the air around her and even felt the sting as one grazed her arm. 

Then she felt the stalks of grain brushing against her, heard the bullets tearing through them and the rustle as the beast continued to drag her. Away from the settlement and beyond all help. 

Survival instincts kicked in and Nora kicked out, struggling as violently as she knew how. Her hands caught at the stalks and dirt, desperately trying to resist as she fought to free herself. 

The creature let go. 

Nora scrambled backwards, panting, hand fumbling with her pip-boy. Emerald light flooded the stalks and the beast recoiled inches from her face, its eyes shining in the glare. The grain rustled and the beast was concealed in its depths. 

_ I have to get out.  _ She couldn't fight what she couldn't see, and all she had to defend herself with was her machete and the knife she always kept in her boot. 

Fueled by adrenaline, Nora scrambled to her feet, rushing back the way she had come. Something dark scythed from the grain and collided with her chest plate. The force winded her and sent her flying. 

She hit the ground, crushing the grain at her back -- and then the beast was on top of her. Foul breath choked her lungs as its claws tore at her coat, cutting through the fabric and scraping the ceramic of her chestplate. 

She screamed, shielding her head with her arms as she tried to kick it away to no avail. Suddenly the creature wrenched away with a roar. Nora heard the sounds of a brief struggle, followed by a yelp.

Recognition turned her blood to ice, numbing the pain of her wounds as she forced herself to sit upright. A few feet away the monster loomed with its back to her, bearing down on Dogmeat who was struggling to rise from where he’d been thrown. 

_ No! _

She seized the sheath of her blade. She didn't remember surging to her feet, but suddenly the beast was howling as she slashed across its back. 

It whipped around, swinging its arm as the blade cut down in an arc. The blade bit deep and the creature roared, wrenching its arm back before lashing out with the other. Its claws scraped her chestplate and Nora took another strike, slashing across its torso. The beast reeled away and doubled over, blood splattering the ground as it raised its good hand to the wound. 

Nora lunged with a snarl, only for the beast to sweep its arm and knock her off balance. Before she could right her footing, it pounced, sending them both to the ground -- only to be wrenched back when Dogmeat seized its leg in his jaws and yanked. 

It fell as Nora angled the blade. 

The howl was deafening. The beast reared back, tearing the blade from its stomach. Nora was drenched in its blood as it surged away, launching over her. An eerie stillness settled in its absence. Distantly, Nora could hear the approaching shouts of her militia closing in. 

Dogmeat whimpered, crawling to her side. She felt his tongue rasp against her fingers, but the sensation faded as her eyelids drooped, the world bleeding out with her wounds. She wondered who would be waiting for her on the other side if she didn’t wake up.


	2. Chapter 2

Even bedridden and exhausted, Nora found it damn near impossible to rest. Beneath her bandages and stitches, the wounds burned and she had a dull, constant headache that kept her awake. As Dogmeat snored peacefully on the cot beside her, Nora flicked through the radio stations on her pip-boy, seeking some kind of distraction. But it was the same as it had been for the past few weeks. 

Radio Freedom listed a seemingly endless call for help from various settlements, DCR relayed all the strange occurrences being reported across the Commonwealth, the Brotherhood’s looped message requested contact from the Prydwen and their missing units, and as for the Institute’s classical station… 

Dead air.

“Ah, the sound of silence.” 

Nora jumped, looking to where a figure had materialised at her bedside. He was dressed like a Minuteman, head covered by his hat and his eyes by a pair of sunglasses. “Good choice there, Boss. The news on the other stations is just depressing.” 

Nora blew a sigh of relief and sank back against her pillows, turning the radio dial off. 

“Don’t suppose you have anything better for me than the radio, do you, Deacs?” 

“Just more of the same,” he replied. “Strange monsters roaming the Commonwealth, Institute’s a no-show, freak radstorms, vanishing settlements. Apparently Atom showed up for some cultists, but they’d already been divided or whatever by the time I got there. Nothing left of them but some guts and a whole lotta cheese.”

  
  
“Wait -- what?”

  
  
Deacon raised both hands. “Seriously, I’m not lying about that. Truth is stranger than fiction, Boss.”

  
  
“Well, what about the Brotherhood? Have you learned what happened to the Prydwen or –” Her throat caught on his name.

  
  
“Sorry, but I’ve got nothing on the Prydwen or Danse.”

  
  
She closed her eyes, swallowing her disappointment. “Right.”

“Well, I’ve gotta get back to it. Lots more nightmare fuel to see.” Deacon was already at the door, watching her from behind his shades. “Take care of yourself, Charmer. Sounded like it was a close call.” 

“You too, Deacs. Good luck out there.” 

He stepped beyond the threshold just as another person appeared, tipping his hat to them. Nora watched as Preston returned the gesture, sparing Deacon a curious glance as he stepped inside before turning to her and removing his hat. 

Preston had aged overnight, his face lined and the shadows of his eyes deep. Concern and guilt curdled Nora’s gut as she watched him pull up a chair. Despite their argument the previous night, she didn’t have the heart to hold onto her anger. 

He was visibly exhausted, yet the concern in his eyes was genuine. In spite of the risks and the recent strain their friendship, he’d been among the first to leave the settlement walls and run to her aid. Whatever their differences, he was still one of her most loyal friends. 

She gave him a smile as he settled in his seat. 

“Long day?”

“Very,” Preston sighed. “Still, it’s been productive. Longfellow tracked down the monster, and confirmed the kill. He brought back the body, but… well, I don’t know what to make of it. It’s not like any deathclaw I’ve ever seen.” 

He dragged a hand over his face, shoulders slumped. 

Nora thought of the beast, the intelligence and cruelty blazing in its eyes. Her wounds burned. 

“Me neither.” 

“Still, with the monster gone at least these folks can sleep safe in their own beds… but we’ve already had another urgent call. Something about giants coming out of the glowing sea.” 

“Giants?” 

“Yeah. Bigger than behemoths according to our scouts, and moving towards our settlements. I’ve already rallied the men, and as soon as we’ve resupplied and saddled the radstags, we’ll be riding south to investigate. 

“I just wish I knew where all of this was coming from, and how we could protect the people from it.” Preston’s voice shifted to one of frustration.

Nora swallowed, combing her fingers through Dogmeat’s fur. 

“Me too.” 

“Sorry. I didn’t come here to weigh you down. I wanted to see how you were doing... and clear the air before I go.” 

Nora felt a twinge of guilt, and then more painful twinges as she eased herself upright with a hiss. Dogmeat stirred, blinking blearily before thumping his tail in greeting when he sighted Preston. 

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” Nora eventually spoke, forcing herself to meet Preston’s eye. “You were right. About everything. Going beyond the walls was stupid, and I haven’t exactly been the best leader of late.” 

"You've just been--" 

"I haven't." Nora interrupted him. "And you weren't afraid to tell me what I didn’t want to hear. Hell, you weren’t even intimidated by Maxson when you met him.” 

She mustered a tight smile. “I know you’ll do great in my stead, Preston. Just don’t run yourself into the ground like I did, okay? Take care of yourself out there.” 

Preston’s features softened, his lips parting in one of his broad smiles that alleviated some of the weary lines. 

“I’ll do my best so long as you promise to rest up. We need you fighting fit and leading the cause again as soon as you’re able.” 

_With you in my place? That’s unlikely._ The thought darted across her mind, bitter and full of self-pity. Preston was the better General, and she knew he would shine during this crisis, because that was who he was. The strong, compassionate and capable leader he had always been. 

That she could never be.

But she reminded herself that he was a good man, and one of her most loyal and trusted friends. He didn’t deserve her frustration and jealousy, and she knew in her shoes he wouldn’t be so self-centred and bitter. Suddenly, she felt very tired. 

She forced herself to shake the feelings away, determined to make this goodbye a warm memory for them both. After all, with how the world was turning, she might never get a second chance. 

* * *

Nora awoke, her head throbbing painfully and body as heavy as lead. Her bones seemed to ache and she was drenched in sweat, her very blood burning beneath her skin.

  
  
She cracked her eyes open and groaned, blinking to clear her swimming vision. Save for the fluttering gold of candles, the room was dark. She heard a clink and a shadow moved over her, a hand cupping the back of her head to raise it from the pillow. A glass was pressed to her lips. “Here. Take a sip.”

  
  
Nora managed to swallow a trickle of water before she turned away. Longfellow lowered her head back to the pillow and removed the flannel from her forehead. She heard a splash and then it returned, blessedly cool and damp.

  
  
Swallowing hard, she turned to look at where he sat at her bedside. “How long was I out?”

  
  
“Few hours, give or take,” Longfellow replied, his face shifting in and out of focus. “How are ya feelin’?” 

“Awful.” 

“Figures. You look it.” 

Nora swallowed again. Her throat felt like it had been lined with crushed glass. “Has there been any news?” 

“Garvey reached Somerset after nightfall, but otherwise nothin’.”

  
She heard a pop followed by the slosh of liquid, and peered to where Longfellow was taking a swig from his hip flask. She caught the scent of firebelly and gave an amused huff.

  
  
“That stuff’s gonna rot your guts,” she whispered, her eyelids growing heavy.

  
  
“I ain’t some soft mainlander, Cap’n.” Longfellow snorted. “Maybe you should try drinkin’ some. It’ll either kill what ails ya or knock you out again.”

  
  
“’M good,” Nora whispered. “Feeling tired already.”

  
  
As she drifted off to unconsciousness Longfellow sighed, his shoulders slumped beneath his coat. “Just wake up tomorrow, Cap’n.”

* * *

  
Blood. Nora could taste it in her mouth, smell it in the air. _But why?_

  
  
She felt tired and sore, but her fever was gone and her wounds no longer burned. She felt better than she had in days. Weeks, even. She sighed and flexed her fingers, damp soil catching under her nails…

  
  
_Soil?_

  
  
Nora’s eyes snapped open and her heart rate spiked. She gasped, her aches forgotten as she scrambled away from the carcass beside her.

  
  
A radstag lay dead on the ground, its two heads staring lifelessly up at the spindly canopy overhead. One of its throats had been torn clean out and the stomach ripped open, its innards partially devoured. Blood saturated the ground.

  
  
Nora began to shake, her jaw clenching as she glanced down at her own body. Save for the chain that held her holotags and wedding rings, she was naked, her skin caked in the blood and gore in which she’d been lying.

  
  
Her stomach churned and she rose on shaky legs. Stumbling towards a nearby tree, she doubled over, her shoulders heaving as she retched.

  
  
Blood and chunks of what looked awfully like raw meat spattered the ground.

  
  
_What the fuck?_

  
  
Nora’s eyes widened in horror and her gorge rose. She managed to stagger a few steps away before vomiting again. Eventually, when nothing more came up, she tried to regain her composure and take in her surroundings, her legs threatening to buckle with every step.

She was in a wooded area, rocks and knotted roots catching on her bare feet as she stumbled between the trunks, trying to avoid the piles of deadfall and thickets that blocked her way. The world was shrouded in pre-dawn gloom, the sky gradually lightening above the canopy.

  
  
She couldn’t see any distinguishing landmarks but surmised she must be in the north-west reaches of the Commonwealth, where the woodlands were most dense. She wished she had her pip-boy to confirm it.

  
  
As she walked she scratched at her arms, trying to scrape away the grime and blood from her skin. Her eyes fell upon a stout wooden branch that had fallen from a tree and she took it as a weapon, praying that she ran into nothing worse than bloatflies before she found a friendly settlement.

  
  
The sun rose, gradually illuminating the wasteland as she pressed on. Every now and again she spied large shadows ghosting through the distant trees, but none attacked her. Radstags.  


Finally she slowed to a halt, leaning against a tree to catch her breath and check her feet. The soles were sore, cut up by the unforgiving terrain. She leaned back against the trunk and hugged herself, one hand clutching her rings and holotags as she tried to keep it together. 

With a deep breath she forced herself to take another step, only to pause, her head cocked. 

Something whispered in the silence. 

She strained to hear it, turning on the spot as she searched for the source. 

“Hello?” her voice was hoarse, but carried through the stillness of the trees. “Is someone there?” 

The whispering intensified. The words were indecipherable, but the voices - they were familiar. 

“Danse? Brandis?” she walked towards the voices, her eyes desperately scanning the trees for any sign of the phantom speakers. “Arthur? Where are you?” 

A large, boxy shape became visible between the trunks and she quickened her pace, the voices growing louder until she could hear them calling her. 

_Nora. Nora..._

Her breath came in short pants as she sprinted into a small clearing, rounding the side of an ancient cabin. The wooden steps creaked as she climbed onto the porch, one hand reaching for the door, wrenching it open. 

She froze in the doorway, staring wide-eyed into the gloom beyond. 

Sunbeams dappled the floorboards, illuminating a single room occupied only by the remains of a pre-war skeleton, its bones scattered amongst the leaves carpeting the floor. 

Nothing. But the whispering hadn’t stopped. 

Nora stepped inside, holding the branch before her. She wanted to call out, but fear constricted her throat. 

A mattress lay on the floor--and there, lying at its centre, was a book. A book that was whispering her name. It was bound in a strange black leather, the cover embossed with an eldritch monstrosity contained within two rings. Its tentacles writhed and she blinked, only to find that the image was static. 

The whispering grew louder. 

Nora reached her hand towards it and the air seemed to pulse, crackling with energy-- 

A bark echoed outside and she drew back, the spell broken. She limped back to the door, just as Dogmeat clattered up the steps. At the sight of her, he whimpered, tail wagging furiously as he rushed towards her.

“Dogmeat!” Nora dropped the branch, relieved tears welling in her eyes as she crouched to greet him. 

He stopped a few feet away, muzzle lifted as he sniffed the air. He flattened his ears and his hackles rose, his tail falling between his legs. He whined, backing up when she took another step towards him. 

“Shhh! Hey! Hey, it’s me, boy!” She whispered, his image blurred as the first tears began to roll down her cheeks. “Please, Dogmeat. It’s me!” 

Dogmeat whined again, and then, ever so slowly drew closer. Nora forced herself to remain still as he cautiously sniffed the air, and then her outstretched hand - then all at once he was throwing himself at her, tongue lapping at her cheek as she buried her face in his fur.

Their reunion was interrupted the quiet thud of hooves, and she glanced up in time to see Longfellow emerge around the side of the cabin leading a radstag by its reins. 

“Cap’n!”

Nora’s head snapped up to see Longfellow striding around the cabin, leading a radstag by its reins. His eyes, usually so sharp and controlled, widened with horror as he took her in. Seconds later he thunked onto the cabin porch, leaving the stag at the steps.

“What happened? Are you alright?” 

Nora couldn’t speak, nothing but a hoarse whine escaping her throat as she rose and staggered towards the old hunter, only for her knees to buckle. 

Longfellow caught her, staring at the blood caking her body. A few moments later he'd shrugged off his coat and draped it about her shoulders. 

“It's gonna be alright, Cap’n. We’re gonna get you home,” Longfellow reassured her, his voice quaking. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leading her back towards the radstag only for the animal to snort and back away, pawing at the earth. 

“Hey! Now what's gotten into you?” Longfellow demanded, leaving Nora's side to grab the reins. “Calm down!” 

Longfellow was able to pull the dominant head down, but the other bellowed and the beast reared up, kicking the air with all four front legs. Longfellow cussed, ducking to the side and avoiding its kicks. 

Nora watched as he struggled to calm the stag down, leading it a short distance away. When he had it back under control, he beckoned her to come towards them, but the animal became skittish again, trying to pull free. 

Longfellow gritted his teeth, stubbornly holding on. When Nora backed away the stag grew a little calmer though the second head continued to watch her with nostrils flared. Longfellow tied the reins around a low hanging branch and huffed, coughing as he caught his breath. 

“Must be the smell of the blood on ya,” he panted, turning back to Nora. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to everyone who's read, left kudos and commented! It's much appreciated and I hope you continue to enjoy the story! Have an awesome day! 💖 
> 
> Much love again to the Wombats for helping me tighten this chapter and helping with Deacon's dialogue! 💖 💖 💖


	3. Chapter 3

“You are certain that you were wounded recently?” Curie asked. A frown creased her brow as she gently squeezed along Nora’s shoulder, following the silver trail of scars that marred the skin. She watched for any signs of discomfort, but Nora exhibited none. 

She just stared across the room, dull-eyed, stirring only at Curie’s question.

  
  
“Like I said, I was attacked two nights ago,” Nora answered. “Last night I thought I was dying of an infection, I felt so bad.”

  
  
“If what you are saying is true, then something very strange has happened.” Curie retrieved a thermometer from a surgical tray near the bed. When she held it to Nora’s lips, Nora obliged, catching it under her tongue.

  
  
“Well, Madame, I can confirm that you do not have any physical wounds that require immediate treatment,” Curie began in her French cadence. “There is heavy scarring where you say the animal attacked you. However, judging from the scar tissue it appears that they are very old wounds that have had years to heal.”

  
  
“But dat’sh-”

  
  
“Ah! No speaking while the thermometer takes its reading!” Curie chided. “It could impact the results, or worse, you might drop it and I would have to seek out a replacement!”

  
  
Nora blew through her nose but fell silent.

  
  
Curie’s clinic was set in one of Sanctuary’s larger pre-war houses. The former master bedroom had been converted into a small ward, containing three narrow cots, a battered medical cabinet with a padlock, and some basic furnishings, most of which had either been scavenged or cobbled together by Sturges, the settlement carpenter and handyman.

  
  
One dresser had been filled with donated clothes, which, considering Nora’s dramatic arrival that morning, was fortunate. She pulled up the shoulders of the dress that Curie had given her and buttoned up the front, concealing the two gold rings and holotags hanging from the chain around her neck.

  
  
Curie took the thermometer from Nora’s lips and nodded to herself. “As I thought, your temperature is within normal parameters.”

  
  
“You’re sure?” 

“Positive. Physically, you seem to be in good health. However, I am very concerned about your mental trauma.” 

Nora glanced away. 

“Madame, you have already been through so much. I think that it is important that we discuss what has happened, that you may process your emotions in a healthy manner.” 

Nora rose to her feet, gathering Longfellow’s coat from where it was draped over the bed. “Maybe later.” 

“But Madame, I really think--” 

“I said later.” Nora swept from the ward and out of the building, emerging into the bustling streets of Sanctuary. It had been some time since she had been there last, preferring to reside at her ranch in Sunshine, or else aboard the Prydwen.

  
  
Her steps faltered at the thought, her chest painfully tight. One hand rose to grip the holotags and rings through her dress. Two months. It had been two months since anyone had seen the Prydwen, and still nobody could find evidence as to the fate of the warship, or the hundreds of soldiers aboard it.

  
  
Including Danse.

  
Everyone save the Brotherhood remnants at Cambridge had written them off as dead. Many in the Minutemen ranks saw it as good riddance. 

Nora swallowed, physically shaking the thought from her head. She’d return Longfellow’s coat first and worry about everything else later. He’d left her in Curie’s care while he went to radio Preston. She figured he’d either still be in the barracks or drinking at the local bar.

  
  
Each pre-war building she passed stood like a distorted memory, stained and rusted by time. Where once there had been lawns and flower gardens, there were now vegetable plots. Brahmin and radstags now grazed on the grassy slope where the neighbourhood children had played, while turrets gleamed along rooftops and the perimeter wall. 

  
Nora’s footsteps slowed as she drew near to one house in particular.

  
  
A derelict blue pre-fab, its windows boarded and doors padlocked shut. Once, that ruin had been her home, one of her pride and joys. After spending most of her twenties in a cramped downtown Boston apartment, living in a two bedroom house had seemed like a faraway dream – but Nate had spent all of his life savings to get them a new home. Subsidised by the army, of course. 

  
  
But now their house was a ruin now, even by post-war standards. She had made it clear in no uncertain terms when the Quincy survivors had first moved in that she wanted it left undisturbed.

  
  
Despite the fact that Nora hadn’t entered the house since she first left Sanctuary, it seemed that her request was still being honoured – no matter how selfish it was. Space in Sanctuary was at a premium, with shacks already built on any free land that wasn’t set aside for crops or grazing. If she would allow it, her old home could shelter another family from the horrors of the wasteland. 

  
  
But she wasn’t ready to let go. Part of her doubted she ever would be. 

Eager to put the old ruins of her life behind her, Nora turned off the road and decided to walk through the paddock instead. At least seeing the animals would bring her some peace of mind. 

She was about to turn down an alleyway when a towering figure swept past her. 

Nora blinked, turning to stare as the man strode into the street. He was bedecked in a gaudy suit of orange and purple, twirling a handsome walking cane in his hand. The silver head of it flashed with each rotation, and she could have sworn it was in the shape of a head whose expressions changed each time she saw it. 

She blinked. He was garish and strange in the drab settlement, striding jauntily like a peacock amongst sparrows. Yet none of the nearby settlers reacted to him. They just continued their chores without comment, paying him no attention. Even a patrolling Minuteman passed him by without so much as a glance.

Her confusion became anxiety when he strode through her old front garden, straight up to the door. He rapped the head of his cane against the wood and the padlock fell away, the chain slithering behind it to coil neatly on the doorstep. The man disappeared inside. 

  
Nora broke into a sprint, ignoring the curious looks she received as she raced along the sidewalk, up the overgrown path up to her doorstep. The door had been left slightly ajar so she threw it wide open, drawing to an abrupt halt at the threshold.

  
  
She couldn’t see much beyond the light of the doorway, the heavy gloom alleviated only by the sunbeams that spilled through the porous ceiling. She took a deep breath and stepped inside, closing the door to allow her eyes to adjust.

  
  
Dread snaked in her gut as she discerned the silhouettes of furniture in the darkness. The couches that marked the lounge area, the island bar that bordered the kitchen. All reminders of the life she had lost when the bombs fell.

  
  
Nora tried to push the memories aside, her eyes scanning the room for the intruder. All was still, save for the dust motes waltzing in beams of sunlight. She stepped towards the darkened hallway, straining to hear even the faintest disturbance from the other rooms.

  
  
“Hello?” she called, her voice echoing in the stillness. “I saw you come in here. You’re trespassing, so you’d better leave.”

  
  
There was no response.

  
  
Nora set her jaw and prowled down the hall, sparing a brief glance into the cramped darkness of the utility room before checking the bathroom.

  
  
Her heart skipped at the sight of the grimy sink and mirror. Nate had spent most of their final morning speaking into that looking glass, his brown eyes anxious as he recited his speech again and again. He had only stopped when she had pulled him away by his hand, promising him it would be alright.

  
  
Nora felt her eyes grow hot. She turned sharply back to the hallway, fighting away the lump forming in her throat. She paused between the remaining doorways as she caught her breath, one hand worrying the fabric of the coat still draped over her arm. The master bedroom and Shaun’s nursery were all that remained to explore.

  
  
She took a deep breath and stepped into the bedroom, scanning for any sign of the intruder. It was deserted, save for the splintered remains of her marriage bed and a pair of weathered dressers. She stepped with care through the darkness to check the built-in wardrobe, when a sound came from the hallway.

  
  
Nora jumped, whipping around to face the door. A soft, achingly familiar tune played in the quiet. Her nostrils flared, anguish and rage boiling inside her as she rushed towards Shaun’s old nursery.

  
  
She took a few steps inside and stopped, staring around in confusion. The room was deserted. Her eyes fell upon the blue crib that still stood halfway across the room, the star and rocket mobile above it turning slowly, playing its lullaby.

  
  
“Hello?” Nora called again, checking her corners. The hairs prickled along the nape of her neck as she ventured deeper, searching for any trace of the stranger. The mobile slowed to stillness and the music stopped. But silence didn’t fall.

  
  
She cocked her head, her eyes growing wide. 

_Nora. Nora..._

She crept towards the crib, hardly daring to breathe.

  
The book lay at the centre of Shaun’s crib. Despite the darkness, she could discern the ribs of its spine and the tentacled monster on the cover. The whispers grew louder as she looked upon it.

  
  
Nora reached out, trailing her fingers down the cover. It was warm. She traced over the image of the creature –- and something squirmed.

  
  
She jumped back with a gasp, but nothing happened. The book lay there, completely still. But the whispers were even louder.

  
  
Steeling herself, she tapped the book several times and even prodded the creature’s many eyes, but nothing happened. Eventually, she gathered her courage and picked it up gingerly.

  
  
The tome was thick and heavy, far too large to be read comfortably in her hands, so she braced it on one arm and flipped the cover open.

  
  
Black runes covered the browned pages, and when she blinked, they began to move, shifting and coalescing into letters she could understand.

  
  
“‘The Winds of Change,’” Nora read aloud, watching as more words began to form beneath the title.

  
  
The book jolted in Nora’s hands. Her eyes widened as the pages flipped rapidly of their own accord and she stepped back, trying to drop it. Something warm and leathery wound tight around her arms, holding the book in place.

  
  
“What the hell?” 

  
Nora thrashed, trying to throw the tome across the room but to no avail. The book flipped open to its centre, where the paper was completely blackened with ink. A mass of writhing black tentacles burst forth, seizing her head and shoulders.

  
  
She screamed, fighting as the book pulled her in. She thought she heard someone shout -- and then her ears were filled with a deafening roar as she passed through the paper, into an abyss of swirling light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading as always, and a huge thank you to everyone who has left kudos or a comment! 💖 It's much appreciated! 💖💖💖


	4. Chapter 4

It was cold. The air caught in Nora’s throat, freezing her inside and out. Her mind was blank, her eyes unwilling to open, her body unwilling to move. She knew where she was - there was only one place in the Commonwealth so bone-numbing, so frozen and haunted and hated. 

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t be here. 

_ Nate _ . If she opened her eyes, she would see his corpse framed in a window of frosted glass. 

Bile burned in her throat and tears heated her eyes. 

_ I can’t. I can’t see him. I can’t--  _

Something cold splashed on her cheek, and her eyes flew open. She stared, Vault 111 abruptly forgotten. 

A great open cavern yawned overhead, the blue skies above sliced by a stone bridge that connected one end of the cavern to the other. The rocky walls were dripping with ice, cascading frozen rivers that eventually fell to where she was at the bottom, laying on snow drifts -- as did piles of bones.

The light was dim so far down, but she could see them. The empty sockets of skulls peeking from the snow, shattered jaw bones and cracked ribcages. Some were clearly animals, but there were more than a few that looked all too human… 

She sat up slowly, finding Longfellow’s coat beneath her. She gripped the fabric, pulling it to her chest as she hugged herself.  _ Where am I?  _

But she had no answers. Nowhere she had travelled in the Commonwealth had looked a thing like this. 

. 

Her mind turned to the last thing she remembered, and a shiver racked her body that had little to do with the cold.  _ The whispering book. _

But that made no sense - books didn’t whisper. They didn’t grow tentacles and pull people into their stories so… was she dead? Was she high on chems, still laying in a clinic while suffering lurid dreams? 

She felt light-headed and distant, her heart beating too fast in her ribcage. She couldn’t tell if the shaking came from the cold or her rising panic. _ I’m dreaming. This is all some bad dream. This can’t be real… _

A great roar echoed through the cave. 

Nora flinched as snow fell from the bridge high above, knocked loose by whatever charged across it. 

A second roar answered.

For a moment Nora was paralysed - and then she was scrabbling through the snow, towards a cave mouth in the rock. She emerged into open air and biting winds, only for her feet to betray her and send her falling down a short slope, where the pristine white of snow became grey sands. 

Before her spread an expanse of black, glassy ocean that sullenly sucked along an unfamiliar shoreline. Rocky outcroppings reared defiantly amongst the waves, taking the brunt of the tide’s power while colonies of seabirds stood sentinel atop them. 

The wind that lashed her dark hair across her face lacked the foul stench of decay the Commonwealth pervaded. The air was crisp and clear, carrying the scent of pine and sea. It was even fresher than the country air she remembered pre-war, from childhood summers spent on her cousin’s farm. 

She turned slowly on the spot, slipping Longfellow’s coat around her shoulders as she did so. 

Her eyes fell next on a small cluster of pine trees. They weren’t petrified or sickly and mutated, but healthy and strong, covered in thick cloaks of dark green needles that bobbed and swayed in the wind. 

A grunt made her start. She whipped around to find three large blubbery shapes a little ways along the shore, watching her. The creatures resembled pre-war walruses with their thick grey hides and whiskered faces -- but they had three tusks, two extending from their lower jaw whilst the third capped their muzzle like a beak. 

They were clearly mutants, though ones she had never encountered before. 

Pulling Longfellow’s coat more tightly about her, Nora turned and slowly ventured in the opposite direction. Her breath steamed in the air and she hugged herself tightly, as much to hold herself together as to keep warm. 

To her left, mountains stretched as far as the eye could see, cloaked in dense pine forest and snow. Like everything else she’d seen thus far they were unfamiliar, providing her no point of reference to go from. She lowered her eyes to the ground, trying to think -- which was when she noticed a trail of prints, following the shoreline. 

Hooves and footprints. 

Her heart quickening again she began to follow them, around rocks and through the sparse clusters of trees until she sighted a structure in the near distance. She stopped in the cover of the treeline, her jaw falling slack as she took it in the sight.

It was no house or high rise but a fortress, like something from a Grognak comic or a medieval history book. She could see a stone keep, complete with towers and fluttering pinions that was surrounded by a large wooden palisade. There were walkways and figures patrolling the battlements, glinting gold in the sunlight.

_ What the fuck?  _

The cold wind pushed at Nora’s back, but she didn’t move. She just stared, heart beating and blood roaring in her ears. She felt light-headed and faint, her stomach roiling. Had it not been empty, she might have thrown up. 

Her legs felt weak so she leaned upon the nearest tree, her mind reeling. She didn’t know where the hell she was, only that she was lost and desperate. She’d learned fast not to trust strangers in the Commonwealth, but if she did nothing she would freeze, and she didn’t have the means to help herself. 

Slowly, her feet clumsy and numb, Nora ventured from her cover and towards the fortress. She’d barely taken five steps before a call went up from the fortress walls, and as she continued plodding forwards a portcullis in the wall opened. 

Six figures emerged, some in dark robes and others in filigreed golden armour.

She paused uncertainly, watching as they marched towards her. She could hear the clank and chime of their armour, and the closer they drew the taller they became, each easily over six foot tall, some almost eight. 

Rather than approach her directly, they branched off into threes, closing into a circle around her. She didn’t make any effort to escape, too cold and numb to flee. They closed in until they were all mere feet away, and then four swords rang as they were drawn from their scabbards, golden and intricate as the stranger’s armour. 

Then two of three robed figures splayed their hands and Nora gasped, eyes bulging as phantom blades materialised. She backed up a step only to feel the sharp point of a sword at her shoulder. She froze. 

The phantom blades glowed and rippled and  _ whispered _ . Her throat was too tight to squeak, let alone speak, yet she could feel something bubbling up inside her -- a scream or a laugh, she couldn’t tell which.

“So. This is an outlander.” 

Her eyes flicked to the one member of the circle who hadn’t drawn a weapon. Their voice was cultured but cold, the words spoken with an audible sneer. Their face was concealed beneath their hood, but as she watched they raised their hands to lower it.

A woman. She had an angular face with high cheekbones, a pointed chin and sloping amber eyes. Her skin had a golden hue, her pale blonde hair fastened behind her head to reveal a pair of pointed ears. 

Nora tried to swallow but her throat clicked, hysteria still bubbling dangerously close to the surface. 

“Are there more of you?” The woman demanded. It took a moment for the question to register, then Nora shook her head. 

“Are you newly arrived, or were you sent by the Brotherhood of Steel?” 

A jolt shot through her, breaking through the shock. 

“The Brotherhood? The Brotherhood are here? The Prydwen?” 

The woman flourished her hands with a flash of fire and Nora shrieked, pricking herself on three blades as she recoiled. When she dared lower her arms she saw two fireballs, one hovering above each of the woman’s palms.

“Answer my question.” 

“What is that?” Nora demanded, staring at the flames. “How are you doing that?” 

“Answer my question unless you’d like a personal demonstration,” the woman replied coolly. 

Nora’s mind blanked, the air suffocating. She was imagining it -- she had to be seeing things, or this was all a dream! Maybe she’d finally snapped under the pressure of being General? Or maybe she’d died and ended up in some kind of hell, or--

She couldn’t breathe, her breaths came short and fast until she began to hyperventilate, unable to process what was happening, what she was going to do--

Green light flared and her muscles locked, her shoulders seizing up around her ears. She couldn’t move save for her beating heart, couldn’t even blink as she toppled like a felled tree. She hit the ground hard, the soldiers having sheathed their weapons.

“Bind her and take her inside,” the woman ordered. “I’m certain she’ll be forthcoming after enjoying some of our hospitality.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with the story, especially to those of you who have left me a kudos or a comment! I really appreciate it! (And sorry I'm taking so long to reply and update - life has been very hectic of it late but the support really does mean a lot to me and I really appreciate it!) 
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed it thus far and have an awesome day! ♥


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT!!! This chapter features torture, interrogation, non-consensual nudity and the absolute worst in Thalmor hospitality! I haven't been gratuitous with the torment, but this chapter is heavy reading with some dark themes. If you're not in the place to read such content, bear with me and in the following chapter I'll post a brief summary ahead of the text so you can sidestep having to read this chapter and be all caught up! ♥

Reality returned with a tear of cloth. Nora blinked, the fog shrouding her vision rapidly diffusing as Longfellow’s coat was wrenched from her shoulders, the sleeves shredded by golden talons. Nora shrieked, wrenching away only for a second guard to take hold of her dress and rip the skirt. 

Her hands were bound and useless but she raised them, her only defense as the guards closed in.

“Come here!” one barked, seizing her arm in a biting grip. 

Nora’s screams were incoherent with sobs and she tried to yank herself free, the clawed fingertips gouging her skin -- then a fist collided with her gut. She hit the ground, stunned and breathless. The guard hauled Nora back up, and her head snapped to the side from a slap that left her ears ringing and mouth tasting blood. 

Claws bit her cheeks as he seized her jaw. “Behave, outlander. Before you make us angry.” 

The other guard ripped away the last of her dress and she flinched against the cold. But they weren’t done. They tore away her underwear - and then one guard wrenched the chain from around her neck, cutting bloody welts into her skin. 

The air caught in her lungs, her heart crushed by the hand holding her rings and tags, all she had left of Nate and Danse. She lurched towards him, bound hands reaching -- and the other guard seized the rope, making her stumble as he dragged her to where a meat hook was suspended from the ceiling. 

He lifted her up with little effort, slotting the ropes onto the hook. Her bare feet trod air, her shoulders already aching in protest, but she barely registered it. Her eyes remained locked on the chain now suspended from the guard’s fingers. 

He slipped the chain free as she watched, setting her holotags on a nearby table while he pocketed the rings with a cold smile in her direction. The other guard was sorting through the ruins of her clothes, rifling through Longfellow’s pockets for trophies. 

He produced Longfellow’s hip flask from an inside pocket and opened it, taking a sniff before recoiling in disgust. “As vile as Nord swill,” he scowled, throwing it aside before he bunched up her clothes and Longfellow’s coat to drop them in an open brazier. 

The flames devoured the rags and the guards left her there, hanging in the cold and shadows. 

Alone, the pains of her body began to make themselves known as the adrenaline and numbness subsided. Her lip was split and bleeding, her face ached and her stomach felt tender with every inhale. Her arms burned from holding the weight of her body, growing more unbearable as time passed. 

With nothing else to do, she studied the room by the light of the brazier -- and withered even further. 

Instruments of torture lined the walls. Some she recognised from history books and cheap horror movies -- but many more she didn’t. Whips, blades and cruel traps were interspersed by empty shackles and slack chains, the blood and soot stains on the walls behind them telling gruesome tales. 

Dark crystals were set aside on the table next to her holotags, along with rows of vials and bottles filled with various liquids, some of which glowed or frothed of their own accord. Finer tools were also visible, set out on a tray like a surgeon’s tool kit. 

Despite the cold, sweat slicked her skin. Dream or not, she had to get out. 

But escape proved impossible. 

She thrashed, tried to pull herself up or loosen the bite of the ropes around her wrists -- but it was in vain. All she achieved were worse cramps in her arms, the chain squeaking sadly above her as she swung on the end like a butchered animal. The chill seeped into her bones, leaving her shivering and numb. 

Screams rent the quiet, echoing beyond the door. Nora flinched and squeezed her eyes shut -- but that was all she could do. She couldn’t block it out. She heard the stranger’s voice cracking from their torment, their garbled pleas… and the laughter of their tormentor, growing clearer as the victim’s screams finally broke into agonised barks. 

When the voices fell silent, Nora was sobbing with her own fear and despair. 

* * *

Nora rose from her exhausted trance when the door opened, a tall, robed figure striding inside. A woman, gold skinned with glacial topaz eyes. A hood concealed her hair, but not her utter contempt as she looked Nora over. 

Nora was too exhausted and afraid to feel humiliated. She gazed back, dull-eyed. There was no mercy to be found in the stranger, of that she was certain. 

The woman wordlessly turned towards the table, boots clicking imperiously on the flagstone floor. She pinched the holotags between gloved fingers, studying them for a moment before setting them down. Her eyes cut back to Nora. 

“You’re an outlander.” Her voice was dripping with venom. “Another human.” She drew closer, studying Nora intently the way a butcher might an animal at auction. She circled behind. “You are with the Brotherhood of Steel. Correct?” 

“Where am—” 

Her back burned — not with fire, but deep cold. Nora shrieked, arching away and felt ice crack on her skin. 

The woman tittered, circling back to Nora’s line of sight. She had one hand raised, icy vapor streaming from her fingers in glittering clouds. 

“Your kind don’t seem to do well in the cold. I’m glad. The Nords are resistant to frost magic, so I don’t get to use it as often as I’d like.” She  _ smiled _ . 

Nora’s breaths came in shuddering gasps, her back burning and aching all at once.

“Consider that a small taste of what I will do if you deviate from my questions, or refuse to answer them.” The woman stepped towards the table, one hand closing around an amber coloured crystal. “Am I clear?” 

Sobs choking her throat, Nora nodded as the woman as the woman set the crystal in a stand where it began to glow. Then she thrust her icy hand towards Nora. 

An icicle speared through the air, shattering against the wall behind her. 

_ “Speak clearly.”  _

“Yes!” Nora yelped, her voice shrill and quaking. 

Another icicle shattered on the wall, and she flinched. 

_ “Yes, ma’am!”  _

“Yes ma’am!” 

“Much better,” the woman said, suddenly cordial. “We shall begin with the simple questions. What is your name?” 

“Nora Hart. Ma’am.”  _ God _ she hated the way her voice shook, the fear she betrayed in those three words. But she couldn’t be brave in that dungeon. 

“How did you get all the way out here?” 

“I-I don’t know!” 

The woman seized her calf and Nora screamed, trying to kick away as ice spread from the woman’s biting grip. Faceted crystals spread rapidly from the interrogator’s palm to encase Nora’s skin. For a moment Nora saw the porthole in Vault 111, felt the all-consuming cold, saw frost shrouding the glass to conceal Nate’s concerned expression, his hand pressed to his own window in farewell. 

But she’d whited out back then. Other than the sudden cold, she had felt nothing — but this burned and ached and froze her skin, hurting and spreading and there was no relief. 

The woman dropped her hand and Nora wailed, her leg frozen knee to ankle. 

“Answer me before I start taking your toes,” the woman said sharply. “And don’t forget your manners!  _ How did you get here? _ ” 

Nora’s mind was a blur, torn between the Vault, the dungeon, the pain…  _ This can’t be real.  _

“ _ Answer me! _ ” 

A hand seized her foot. 

“ _ The book _ !” Nora shrieked as cold stung her soles. “ _ The book! _ ” 

“The. Book.  _ Ma’am _ .” 

The cold intensified. 

“ _ The book ma’am! _ ” 

The woman dropped her hand, and the ice encasing Nora’s leg sloughed away to the ground. Though the weight was gone, Nora’s skin burned. 

“What ‘book?’” the woman demanded, her nostrils flared and eyes blazing. “What did it contain?” 

Nora gasped for air between her sobs, shaking violently. “Please, I don’t know, I don’t—” 

The woman seized her leg again and Nora howled. 

* * *

Nora screamed until she was empty and the woman was satisfied. There was no telling how long she had suffered the interrogation, only that it had felt like an eternity, the woman pressing and pressing until Nora had truly felt like she was losing her mind. 

When it was over, the woman had flashed another malicious smile as she took the amber crystal and said something — probably a taunt, though Nora had been too spent and frightened to comprehend her words. She’d been left hanging from the hook until a guard came to fetch her. 

He pulled the rope from the hook and let her drop, her body a dead weight that smacked the flagstone hard. 

“Get up before I drag you.” 

Nora barely had the energy to try. He grabbed the ropes and proceeded to drag her in his wake, ignoring her pained croaks. The corridor was dimly lit by torches, and she could only watch as wooden doors gave way to barred ones, behind which dwelled dark figures that watched them in silence. 

One shadow drew closer as they passed, and she glimpsed clawed, scaly fingers curling around the bars. 

Three more cells passed and then they arrived at an open door. The guard removed the rope binding her hands, then seized her arm and threw her inside, slamming the door shut behind her. 

Nora curled up slowly, gingerly, fighting back whimpers that might draw attention. 

A near silence had fallen in the guards absence, as though the denizens of the other cells held their breaths. But gradually sounds began to fill the void he had left; the sound of bodies shifting, heavy sighs and pained groans. 

“Hey, new gal.” 

Nora flinched, trying to make herself even smaller. The thunder of her heartbeat was almost enough to drown out the voice of the stranger, coarse and husky as though he hadn’t drank in some time. 

“The guards left some clothes in there for you. Might keep you from freezing if you can find them.” 

Nora hardly dared to breathe, keeping her eyes squeezed shut. She willed herself to disappear, or to wake up back in the Commonwealth, or back in her pre-war home or… 

"Who's the 'new gal?'" another voice rumbled. "She one of ours?" 

“Does it matter down here?” replied the first. He coughed dryly, and the quiet fell again. 

Nora held where she was a while, shivering with nothing but old straw to cushion the stone beneath. The first voice spoke again, trying to sound softer despite its raspy edge. 

“Try near the back of your cell, new gal. Even if you don’t want to get dressed, there should be some hide to keep you warm.” 

Warily, Nora opened her eyes to look. She lay with her back to the bars, and ahead of her was a shallow recess carved into natural rock. It was dark and gloomy, but there was just enough light for her to make out a bundle ahead. 

Slowly, each movement painful and stiff, she uncurled and began to crawl towards it. 

Her fingers were numb, but she felt a new texture to the stone — something coarse and furry. The hide the other prisoner had mentioned. 

Wearily she dragged herself atop it, and her hands found another bundle in the dark. The clothing, made from burlap if she had to guess. A tunic, pants, panties and strips of cloth. The clothes reeked, as did the hide, but she struggled into them with little thought. 

In the wasteland, she had learned to take what little she could get. Being squeamish was a luxury she had discarded what now felt like two lifetimes ago. 

The clothes were baggy and irritated the ice burns, but Nora felt a little less vulnerable now she wasn’t so exposed. She wrapped the hide around herself and sat with her back to the wall, her eyes darting around the cell. 

There was nothing else to see other than a bucket set beside the door, and the cell opposite to hers. A figure was slumped beside the door, his back pressed to the stone wall. She couldn’t make much of him in the shadows — just a glimpse of dirty skin and matted dark hair visible in the fluttering torchlight. 

“Thank you.” Nora’s voice was a raw whisper, and the words hurt to speak. Outside, they might have been lost to the faintest breeze, but in the miserable dark and quiet, even those words carried. 

The man’s head lifted towards her, and she huddled deeper beneath the hide. 

“Don’t mention it,” he rasped. “We gotta stick together down here. Just keep your head down when the guards are around, unless you want a beating.” 

“Like that’ll stop ‘em,” the second voice grumbled. 

“It gets you further than spitting on them when they walk by,” the man replied, turning his head in such a way Nora knew he was addressing someone in the cell next to hers. 

“Only reason you stopped spitting is they don’t give us enough to drink.” 

“Then listen to the voice of experience,” the man sighed. He turned back to Nora. “Got a name, new gal?” 

“Nora,” she croaked. 

The man was silent for a while. She was beginning to think he wouldn’t reply when he said, “Nathaniel. Thorald’s the one you can’t see.” 

“Hail,” Thorald grunted. 

Nora tried wetting her lips, winced at the sting and the swelling. 

“Am I… is this real?” she rasped, her voice quaking. “I’m… I’m dreaming, right?” 

“Afraid not,” Nathaniel sighed. “We really are in this pit. Damned Thalmor.” 

Nora prayed that he was wrong — that she was just trapped in the most vivid nightmare of her life. She eventually curled up, hoping that she would wake up back in Sanctuary, aboard the Prydwen, in her husband’s arms… 

Instinctively, Nora reached for her wedding bands and holotags. Then she remembered they were gone, and the cracks in her heart deepened. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment and tyvm to all who have left me a kudos, comment or bookmark! I really do appreciate it and hope you continue to enjoy future chapters! ;D


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter; Following her capture, Nora was tortured by a sadistic altmer who demanded to know her ties to the Brotherhood of Steel. A guard stole her wedding bangs while the interrogator took away her holotags. She was then thrown into the dungeons, where she began speaking with two of the other prisoners, Nathaniel and Thorald.

_ Nathaniel… out of every name that exists, why does he have my husband’s?  _ Nora stared dully at the back of her cell, the rancid hide blanket wrapped tight around her body to ward off the cold. The passage of time was a torture of its own, every moment a stretched eternity of nothing but fear and misery. Neither Nathaniel or Thorald had spoken after their introductions, which left Nora alone with her thoughts. 

Her body ached, the pervasive chill of the cell numbing everything other than the pain of her burns. But she didn’t want to think on what had happened in the torture room. Didn’t want to relive the way the bitch had smiled with each torment she had inflicted. 

She also didn’t want to think about the next time the woman had promised. So she thought on her husband’s name instead. 

She longed to hold her rings and holotags, but when she reached for them, they were gone. A guard had stolen her rings, and the interrogator had laid claim to her holotags. No doubt she wanted to study it for any Brotherhood secrets-- 

The thought struck Nora hard, her body jolting as her mind screeched to a halt.  _ The Brotherhood. She kept asking about the Brotherhood.  _

The Prydwen had disappeared from the Commonwealth months before -- what if it had somehow arrived  _ here?  _ What if Danse…? 

A loud clanging made her flinch, her moment of hope extinguished by dread. Warily, she turned her head to peek back over her shoulder towards the cell door. She saw Nathaniel’s silhouette rise stiffly in his cell and draw closer, one hand gripping the bars. 

“Dinner time,” his voice whispered from the gloom. “Best you get up if you want to eat.”

At his words, Nora realised that she hadn’t eaten in some time. The last meal she could recall was a few sips of soup back in Starlight’s clinic… if she didn’t count the chunks of raw meat she’d vomited the morning after. Her stomach clenched. 

“C’mon,” Nathaniel whispered as footsteps echoed down the corridor. “You’ll need strength to survive this!” 

Nora hesitated before making the effort to rise. She staggered onto her feet, only to feel dizzy and light headed. She braced a hand against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the sensations to subside before shuffling towards the door. 

She arrived at the same time the guards did. 

There were two of them, each carrying a wooden pail. One was full of food scraps, the other water. They stopped outside Nathaniel’s cell first, the guard with food throwing a handful of slops through the bars while the other dipped a ladle in their water, before thrusting it towards him. 

Droplets spattered the stone at his feet, and Nathaniel grabbed the ladle to inhale its contents before more could be lost. The guard wrenched it back in short order, and the pair turned to face Nora. 

“Ah. The outlander,” the one with the food pail drawled. “No food for that one. Only water.” 

With that he strode towards the next cell, and the remaining guard sullenly doled out the water. Nora barely drank two mouthfuls before the guard yanked the ladle away and moved on. 

In his cell, she could see Nathaniel gathering up what little food had been thrown his way. 

With nothing for herself, Nora retreated back to her spot and settled down as comfortably as she could. She closed her eyes, telling herself she probably couldn’t have kept the food down anyway. 

The guard’s footsteps gradually receded, and quiet returned to the dungeon. 

“Pssst. Nora.” 

Nora rolled over to peer through the bars, wincing at her protesting muscles. 

In the torchlight, she saw Nathaniel draw his arm back and something sailed between the bars of both cells to land in hers. When she crawled towards it, she discovered a morsel of bread on the stone. 

“That’s all I can spare,” he whispered. “Best eat it before the guards come back.” 

Nora picked it up, dusting it off before popping it in her mouth. The bread was stale and dry, almost too hard to chew -- but the gratitude she felt at his kindness was almost crushing. Whoever he was, he had a heart of gold.  _ Like my Nate…  _

Nora pushed the thought away, resisting the tide of grief threatening to overwhelm her. Instead she crept towards the bars so he could hear her whispered “Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Nathaniel murmured, slumping down beside his door. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Thorald growled. “She ain’t one of us.” 

“Enough, Thorald. A little bread ain’t gonna make much difference,” Nathaniel sighed. “Besides, it doesn’t hurt to show a little kindness.” 

“She could be some kind of daedra for all we know,” Thorald challenged. “Nobody knows where these outlanders come from, or who they serve.” 

“So let’s ask the source,” Nathaniel replied, and Nora could feel his eyes on her. “Where do you hail from, Nora?” 

A near complete silence had fallen, and Nora wondered how many of the other prisoners were listening in. She clutched the hide even tighter as she considered her answer. 

“I’m from Boston, though I guess it’s better known as the Commonwealth these days.” 

“Never heard of it,” Nathaniel replied, and Nora could hear the frown in his voice. “Is it from some realm of Oblivion?” 

“‘Oblivion?’” Nora repeated, and now it was her turn to frown. “No it’s… it’s in America. On Earth?” 

“Earth as in soil?” Thorald sounded confused. 

“No -- Earth as in the world. The planet? We  _ are _ on Earth, right?” Nora could hear her voice rising, her words beginning to shake. For a moment, no one replied. 

“You’re in Skyrim, in Tamriel, on Nirn,” Nathaniel said slowly. 

White noise began to roar in Nora’s ears, and she suddenly felt distant from her body as his words sank in.  _ Tamriel? Nirn? _ She had never heard of them -- and they sounded nothing like ‘Boston’ or ‘America.’ The light headedness returned with a vengeance.  _ This can’t be right… _

“Are you even human?” Thorald demanded, his voice accusing. 

_ Human.  _ Finally a word that made sense. 

“Yeah, I’m human…” her thoughts turned to the scaled fingers she had seen gripping the cell bars when she was dragged through the dungeon. Their towering golden captors. “Are  _ you _ ?” 

“‘Course I’m human!” Thorald snapped. “I’m a Nord!” 

“What are you doing in here, Nora?” Nathaniel interrupted. “I thought your people were all the way down in Whiterun. The Thalmor catch you off guard?” 

“My people? You mean the Brotherhood of Steel?” Nora’s heartbeat quickened, and she leaned closer to the bars.

“That sounds about right,” Nathaniel said slowly. “They’re the outlanders who came from the sky in a flying castle.” 

“The Prydwen?” Nora demanded. “Where’s this Whiterun? How do I--” 

“Guards are coming!” a new voice hissed, and Nora’s mouth snapped shut. In the silence footsteps echoed, drawing closer with the rattle of chains. Nora retreated as the steps drew closer, and Nathaniel did the same. 

The guards stepped into sight and stopped, facing Nathaniel’s cell. Nora’s heart sank. 

“On your feet, maggot,” one of the guards ordered, readying the shackled chains in his hands. “Oriana has something  _ special _ planned for you. She’ll make it even more special if you’re late.” 

The cell door opened with a pained squeal, and Nora rose uncertainly to her feet. It wasn’t like she could do anything for him, but-- 

The guard crashed into the bars of Nora’s cell. 

Nora yelped, staring wide eyed as Nathaniel slammed the guard’s head repeatedly into the iron. Something fell through the bars, clattering to the floor in the struggle. A ring laden with keys. 

Green light flooded the corridor, and Nathaniel went rigid. 

“You miserable wretch!” The second guard launched at him with a truncheon. “I’ll teach you to lay your filthy hands on a soldier of the Dominion!” 

Nathaniel hit the ground, unable to protect himself from the blows. The guard he’d attacked took a moment to gather himself before pushing away from the bars, kicking and stamping in a storm of violence. 

Nathaniel’s pained grunts were just audible over the meaty thunks of their strikes. 

Nora inched across her cell, heart hammering, wincing at every strike. She didn’t want to see it, how Nathaniel tried to curl up, the guards baring their teeth in vicious grins and reveling in his pain. The closer she got to the keys, the more certain she was that they would see her. 

There was a loud clang to the left of her cell, the ring of shaking bars. 

“You gutless snowbacks!” Thorald roared. “You pointy eared sons of horkers--” 

One of the guards reared up just as Nora crouched, her hand gripping the keyring as the guard threw a bolt of lightning towards Thorald. Then he saw Nora. 

She shied away as he turned to face her cell, lips stretched in a manic grin. “That’s right, outlander. Don’t get any ideas.” 

The other guard stooped to shackle Nathaniel’s wrists, spitting on him for good measure before both guards grabbed the chain and dragged him away. All Nora saw of Nathaniel was a large body in soiled rags, his bare arms mottled with cuts and bruises. His face was concealed by long, matted dark hair, but she was certain it would have been battered and swollen. Splotches of blood darkened the stone. 

Nora held her breath, waiting for the guards to come running back… 

But their footsteps and the sound of Nathaniel’s body dragging on stone faded away. 

Releasing a shuddering breath, Nora dropped the hide that shielded her body and stepped to the bars, holding the keyring in the torchlight. There were six keys, five brass and one iron that matched the cell doors. Her hand shook as she fumbled the key into the lock. 

When the bolt slid open, she released a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. 

The door gave a traitorous screech as she eased it ajar, but there was no shout of alarm or charging footsteps. Still, Nora kept herself as small as possible as she crept towards Thorald’s cell. 

Inside she saw a large man with long, matted grey hair and an unkempt beard. He was pushing himself up from the floor, though his eyes cut to her the second she appeared at his door. He stiffened, and she could feel his glare piercing through her. 

“It’s me, Nora,” she whispered, putting the key in the lock. “We don’t have long.” 

The bolt snapped back and she turned to the cell behind her, key ready in her hand. She froze. 

A pair of large, golden eyes glinted from between the bars, around which furred fingers were curled. A cat -- a cat as big as a man, with opposable thumbs and human-like hands who was standing on two legs. 

“Hurry, five-claw!” the cat-person hissed. “Do not leave this one behind!” 

Thorald’s door squealed at her back, and the sound snapped Nora from her shock. She moved into action, deciding that no one deserved to be left in the cells, human or otherwise. The sight of the cat’s tail, or what was left of it, steeled her resolve. 

She made her way down the cells as fast as she could, opening any she found occupied. She hesitated only a moment when she reached a cell with a lizard-person, but shook away her wariness. If there were cat-people, why not lizard-people? Maybe she’d encounter a dog-person next. 

A thunderous boom exploded along the corridor with a blast of air. The open cell doors slammed shut, the torches guttered, the earth shook and dust rained from the ceiling. Nora staggered, almost knocked off her feet. 

_ What was that? An earthquake? Some kind of alarm?  _

Heart hammering in her ribcage, Nora turned to where the other prisoners were congregated, only to see Thorald storming back in her direction. 

“What’s going on?” she whispered. “Is there a plan?” 

“Leave with the snowbacks if you want,” he growled, stalking past her. “I’m not leaving without Nathaniel.” 

Nora glanced between him and the other prisoners who were beginning to disappear around the corner. She curled her hands into fists, nails biting her palms, and turned to follow Thorald. 

“I’m not leaving without him either.” She wished that she sounded braver, but couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice. Thorald glanced back at her, and she saw his eyes were white-ringed, nostrils flared and lips bloodless. He was as terrified as she was. Maybe even more so.

He gave her a single nod. 

A distant roar echoed, and Nora glanced at the ceiling. 

“What is that?” she whispered, “and what was that wind earlier?” 

Thorald just shook his head. His jaw was clenched so tightly, she didn’t think he could open it. She half expected to hear his teeth crack. 

They reached an open doorway that annexed a corridor beyond. 

Nora glimpsed two rows of iron studded doors, interspersed by empty gibbets jutting from the walls. One door was broken, the thick wood jagged and splintered. Raised voices emanated from within the room, though they were drowned out by an even louder roar. 

The voices fell silent, and a familiar dark-robed figure emerged from the doorway, picking her way over the splinters as running footsteps echoed from an unseen direction. A guard sprinted into sight, skidding to a halt in front of the interrogator. 

Nora’s burns prickled. 

“What is going on out there?” The woman demanded. Gone was the sneering arrogance from her voice. She sounded tense, shaken, and Nora noted that her hood was down, exposing long, dishevelled blonde hair that was plastered to her scalp with blood. 

Something, or someone, had evidently given the bitch a taste of her own medicine. 

“A dragon has descended from the mountain, ma’am. It’s attacking the fort.” 

As if on cue the ground shuddered beneath their feet and the walls shook. More dust fell from the ceiling, and Nora felt the vibrations when she gripped the wall for support. 

The interrogator cursed as she straightened up, one hand touching the wound on her head. 

“There’s more,” the guard continued. “Prisoners have escaped the dungeons, but given our circumstances it was decided that the dragon--” 

“Enough!” the woman spat, stalking in the direction the soldier had come from. “Of course the dragon takes precedence! What’s our strategy?” 

Another roar tore through the building, and Nora felt a gust of hot air sweep from the dungeon behind them. She could smell burning. 

_ Well, if cat-people, lizard-people and elves exist, why not dragons?  _

“C’mon! He’s got to be in there,” she whispered, slipping from cover before Thorald could react. Nora crept down the corridor towards the broken door and crossed the threshold only to freeze, the air trapped in her lungs. 

Nathaniel was strung from the ceiling by chains, naked and covered in blood. Lacerations striped his torso, arms and legs. His head hung limp, but his chest was still heaving and she could hear his laboured breathing.

“Gods!” 

Nora stumbled as Thorald shoved past her, reaching for the shackles holding Nathaniel’s wrists. He removed the pins holding them in place and Nathaniel dropped, emitting a pained groan when Thorald caught him. 

Nora rushed towards them, hands hovering uncertainly. She couldn’t think of what to do, what might help-- 

“Look for potions,” Thorald ordered, carefully lowering Nathaniel to the ground. 

“Potions?” 

“Bottles!” Thorald snapped. “Look for red and green bottles!” 

Nora turned on the spot, and her eyes discovered a table not unlike the one in the chamber where she had been tortured. Rows of glass bottles and vials were set upon it, and upon closer inspection she was relieved to see that most of them were labelled. 

She grabbed a few bottles of ‘healing elixir’ and ‘fortify’ before rushing back to Thorald’s side. Thorald immediately grabbed one of the red bottles, uncorking it with his teeth before pressing the bottle to Nathaniel’s lips. 

“See if there’s anything in here to help us get out,” he ordered. “Any weapons or armour we could use.” 

The fort trembled in the wake of another roar. In the corridor, something cracked. 

Sweat beading her brow, Nora turned her attention to the rest of the room. Weapons were in abundance, lining the walls with wicked blades and spikes. But there were no sheaths to go with them. No way to easily carry them. 

Frowning, she focused on the desk. Aside from the bottles and a couple of dark crystals, nothing leaped out at her. Then her eyes fell upon a knapsack and wooden trunk stowed beneath it. 

Within the knapsack she discovered a sheathed dagger, the same filigree gold as the armour worn by the guards. Besides that was a heavy woolen dress, a pair of fur lined boots, gloves and a cloak. She also discovered a small pouch of coins. 

She quickly pulled the dress over the burlap rags she wore, and the boots over her feet. They were large and ill-fitting, but would keep her warm. 

Nora then turned her attention to the trunk behind the bag and discovered even more clothes, mismatched and jumbled together. She supposed they had all belonged to previous victims. There were tunics, breeches, dresses, leathers and furs of all kinds. She grabbed armfuls of clothing and threw them onto the floor, then grabbed the biggest and thrust them towards Thorald. 

“What are you doing?” he hissed, glaring at her over his shoulder. 

“Thinking ahead! I don’t want to freeze to death when we get out of here!” 

Another roar resonated, and Nora pulled the knapsack onto the desk and began to fill it with useful-sounding potions. As she worked, she heard Nathaniel gasping in pain, and when she turned to was to find him conscious but in visible agony as Thorald dressed him. 

When the knapsack was full, Nora closed it and pulled it over her shoulders. She bit back a hiss when the weight pressed against her ice burns. Nathaniel had it far worse. 

With the golden dagger sheathed at her hip, Nora slipped to the door to scope the corridor beyond, and a fine rain of pebbles had her glancing up at the ceiling. A large crack ran through the stone, slowly growing into a fissure. She turned back to the room, and found Thorald half-dragging, half-carrying Nathaniel towards her. 

Without a word Nora ducked under Nathaniel’s other arm despite the height difference, and the three of them struggled out into the corridor. The air tasted of dust and smoke, distant shouts and screams echoing from above. 

Each roar seemed to rend the fissure above them wider, and it took all of Nora’s willpower to remain beneath Nathaniel’s arm rather than take her chances and run. They retraced their steps through the dungeon as the cracks spread overhead, racing them. 

The smoke grew thicker the further they went, stinging their eyes and irritating their lungs. Nora’s eyes watered as they finally rounded a corner at the far end of the dungeons, arriving at the foot of a steep stairwell. Black smoke poured down the steps in a toxic waterfall. 

She choked on it as they climbed, and from their wheezing Nathaniel and Thorald fared little better. 

Then they reached even ground, and followed a gust of air through the smoky nether-sky to an open doorway. All Nora could see through it was more smoke and the dirty, frenetic light of fire. She stepped on something that crumbled beneath her boots, but her eyes watered too much to see what it was. 

A powerful gale beat the smoke away and tousled her hair. 

A deafening roar filled Nora’s ears, and she looked skyward in time to see a monstrous shadow blot out the stars. A great maw opened wide and spewed liquid fire that fell in a burning curtain. 

She and Thorald recoiled as the liquid erupted into a wall of flames, blazing white hot and blinding as the beast’s wings fanned them to greater heights. The roar of the flames was almost enough to drown out the terrified screams of soldiers and horses, who were rendered into nothing more than chaotic shadows silhouetted by the blazing light. 

Then Thorald lurched forward and Nathaniel’s arm flexed around her shoulders, dragging her with them. 

The air shimmered with the intense heat, and Nora could feel the stones cooking underfoot, even through the soles of her boots. The snow and sludge she had anticipated was evaporated, and all was fire and shadow until they reached the wooden barricade that the dragon had reduced to splinters. 

The beat of wings sounded overhead, and they were buffeted by gales that almost sent them sprawling to the ground. The earth jolted underfoot with a great crack of stone, and Nora couldn’t help but look over her shoulder as they fled. 

Behind them loomed a monstrous shape, almost as big as the fort. It’s scales glittered like emeralds in the firelight as it shifted, the dark veins visible in its wings as it splayed them, forming its own barricade to corral its prey. The dragon’s head rose on a long, serpentine neck that began to glow from its inner fire before it spat more flame -- and Nora turned her eyes forward, praying the beast wouldn’t come after them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading and I really hope you're enjoying the story so far! A huge thank you to everyone who had left me a kudos and/or comment, it's hugely appreciated and definitely keeps me encouraged to keep writing! Also shoutout to the Wombats for their unerring support and being all around awesome! Hope you have an amazing rest of your day, reader! ♥


	7. Chapter 7

Nathaniel was in a bad way. Snow cushioned the potion bottles as Nora upended the knapsack, shaking it until she freed the fur lined cloak at the bottom. She shook it out with a flourish, draping it over the cold stone floor before rolling the knapsack into a pillow. As Thorald lowered Nathaniel onto the improvised bedroll, a distant roar echoed through the cave. 

Nora glanced up to where a stone bridge spanned the space high above, the glittering stars visible beyond that. Funny that they had arrived where she had started. She could only hope this new beginning went more smoothly. 

Nathaniel groaned, and Nora turned to see Thorald carefully peeling back his tunic to look at his wounds. Nora scrambled to where a bottle lay in the snow, emitting a soft green light. The label read  _ ‘Torchbug Treacle.’  _ She didn’t know what the liquid actually did, only that it glowed like a rare Nuka-Cola. 

She brought it closer, and its light revealed the wounds striping Nathaniel’s skin. The bleeding had stopped, and some already looked like they were healing -- but it wasn’t enough. He was shivering, his breaths coming in short gasps. 

Thorald crawled to where the potions had fallen, grabbing a couple of bottles. He shoved one towards Nora. “Get him to drink that.” 

Nora's hands shook as she set the treacle down, taking the red bottle from Thorald’s hand. She battled with the cork briefly before it popped open. Then, as gently as she could, Nora cupped the back of Nathaniel’s head, threading her fingers through the filthy matted locks, and eased him up as she pressed the bottle to his lips. 

He groaned, some of the potion dribbling into his beard. 

“It’s alright,” Nora soothed, her voice shaking and teeth chattering. “Just drink this, and you’ll feel better.” 

She hoped she was right. He was still alive, and the wounds no were no longer bleeding -- if anything, the potions were almost as effective as stimpaks. 

Nathaniel choked and she drew the bottle away, giving him room to recover. 

As she did, she studied the swellings that bloated his face, the blood crusting his unkempt beard and the sunken quality of his cheeks, his eyes. She felt a twinge as she looked at him, like she knew him from somewhere… 

A warm wind stirred, rapidly growing stronger as it blustered through the cave mouth and swirled up, rising through cavern back to the sky. A deafening roar boomed from the rock and rime, and blades of ice fell from the bridge and walls to shatter on the stone. 

Nora’s shout was lost in the gale as she doubled over, huddling down by Nathaniel. 

Another roar shook the cave, fading as though the dragon were passing by. The hot winds cooled, then they slowly abated. 

Something cold clutched her hand. 

Nora’s eyes snapped open to find Nathaniel clutching at her fingers, watching her from beneath his lashes. “Arnora…” 

His fingers felt like icicles -- and for a moment Nora recalled clutching at her dead husband’s hand, begging the world to give him back. 

“Arnora!” Nathaniel’s voice was weak but desperate, his feeble grip trying to clutch her fingers. Nora sat up, and hesitantly allowed him to take her hand, gently squeezing back. She wondered briefly who Arnora was, and the strangeness of such a similar name... but she shook the questions away. 

It wouldn’t hurt to play along, and if these were his last moments… she supposed it would be more of a kindness.

“It’s alright,” she said, speaking softly. “I’m here. I’m with you, but you have to drink this, Nathaniel.” 

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, his breath hitching with sobs as she pressed the bottle to his lips. “Don’t leave me…” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Nora reassured, and finally he began to drink. By the time she’d coaxed him to finish the bottle, Thorald was crouched at her side with another one. 

“Have a swig of this,” Thorald ordered. “Then see if you can get him to have a drink of it, too. It’ll stop the cold killing you and frostbite setting in.” 

Setting the empty bottle aside, Nora accepted a blue potion from him. It was already depleted, and as Thorald hadn’t had an adverse reaction she did as he said, taking a deep gulp. The potion had a spicy edge to its flavour, and warmth rapidly blossomed throughout her body. 

This time when she offered the bottle to Nathaniel, he seemed able to drink a little more easily. She also noticed his grip had strengthened on her hand. 

“What do we do now?” she whispered, turning to Thorald. 

Thorald sighed, his breath steaming the air. “Not a lot we can do. We’d better wait til morning and pray the dragon leaves. After that… well, we’ll see.”

Nora nodded, turning back to Nathaniel only to find he’d drifted off to sleep. She blinked, the sense of deja vu growing stronger. As the swelling went down, she felt like his face was growing more familiar. The shape of his nose, the sharp lines of cheekbones… 

_ But it could be the light _ , she told herself, ignoring the near painful twist of her gut. The glow of the bottle was soft, and the shadows pooled deep. She was exhausted and stressed, and she’d never been in this world to meet anyone, so...

“We should try and rest and up,” Thorald spoke, breaking Nora from her thoughts. “Probably best we huddle for warmth, and keep Nathaniel between us.” 

Nora stiffened, her eyes locked on Nathaniel’s face. Nathaniel.  _ Nate.  _

How had she never…? __

Her husband had never had a full beard, but beneath the jungle covering Nathaniel’s jaw, she was starting to see a resemblance. Hell, when Nate had been deep in the throes of alcoholism and depression, his eyes had the same sunken quality, his cheekbones just as sharp from starvation, his skin as waxy. 

The cold seeped back in, the hand Nathaniel held suddenly slack in his fingers. 

Something gripped Nora’s shoulder and she jumped, whipping around to find Thorald taking a step back. 

“You alright?” he asked hesitantly. 

Nora swallowed hard, but was unable to speak. So she just nodded, trying to blink away the tears burning her eyes. She pulled her hand free of Nathaniel’s. 

“I was saying we should probably roll him over so we can all fit,” Thorald said, gesturing at the cloak. 

“Um… Yeah. Yeah, sure.” 

Nora pushed herself upright, staggering on legs that suddenly felt boneless. She was dizzy, anxious, anguished… She couldn’t bring herself to look at Nathaniel.  _ Why does he have his name? _

“I’m going to get some air.” 

She stumbled towards the cave entrance, and ventured outside. 

To the west the stars were blotted out by a screen of smoke, and she could see the orange light of the fires. But no screams or shouts carried in the night air. When she inhaled, she could taste the smoke. 

She felt distant from herself as she approached the star-rippled sea, her legs giving out on the sand. Nora didn’t feel the wind that stirred her hair, nor the cold, grainy sand as her fingers curled and gouged into it like pale claws. 

Tears blurred everything into starlight and shadow, but through her tears all she could see was the frozen window of Nate’s porthole. The ghost of his hand pressing against the glass in farewell. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, bowing her head as she willed it away. But the scenes kept playing. Nate, frozen and disoriented, pulling Shaun back from the scientists. The glint of Kellogg’s gun as it fired -- and Nate falling back into the pod. 

Nate, smiling shyly as he came home with a box of snack cakes, sliding his first AA chip on the counter for her to see. Nate pulling her into the nursery to show what he’d made for Shaun. Nate singing Shaun to sleep… 

A whine pulled her back to reality, the memories blurring like water colours until she was staring at the grey sand through her tears. The whining came from her own lips, and she curled up, pressing her face to the sand as it dissolved into muffled sobs. 

Eventually, she was hollow again, the grief gone with the last of her energy. The chill of the night had seeped inside of her. 

Nora pushed herself back on her feet, and staggered back into the cave. 

By the light of the glowing bottle, she saw that Thorald had eased Nathaniel onto his side and then laid down behind him. Nora stopped a short distance away, staring at the face that had become so familiar. 

She felt a tremor shaking her foundation to the core, making the cracks in her heart ache. She reached for her necklace, but her hand closed on nothing. 

Nora blew a shuddering breath, and it felt like some twisted dream as she crossed the cavern to where her companions slept. She paused at the edge of the cloak, warily studying Nathaniel’s face. She almost considered laying elsewhere on her own, but… 

_ But I’ll freeze. And so might he.  _

The thought of seeing Nate die again -- 

She covered her mouth with a shaking hand, forcing herself to take deep breaths.  _ It’s fine. This isn’t Nate. He’s dead. Or I’m dreaming.  _

By the time she lay down, her back to Nathaniel’s chest, the deep indigo of the night was growing lighter. She thought sleep would prove as impossible as it had in the cells, if not more so as she was acutely aware of Nathaniel behind her. She hardly dared to breathe… 

The next thing she knew, she was stirring back to wakefulness. Her body felt heavy, sore from laying upon the stone, but she was warm… and her face pressed into a woollen material. She became aware of a weight draped across her, and when she finally dared to open her eyes she saw the beige wool of a tunic, stained with patches of deep rust. 

Holding her breath, Nora eased herself back and reclined her head to see Nathaniel’s bearded jaw. He was asleep, and the light of day revealed his resemblance had not been a trick of the light and shadow. 

Now the bruises and swellings were gone, and she could see him. Her Nate, but… 

Nora rolled over, slipping free of his arm. 

Nathaniel groaned, and as she pushed up to her feet and retreated, he woke up. 

“Gods…” he gasped, rolling onto his back with a wince. He blinked to clear his vision, and Nora’s heart clenched. 

They were golden brown, of course. Just like her Nate’s. 

He began to sit up, grunting with the effort -- and then he froze, his eyes locked onto her. 

Nora’s breath caught, and all she could do was stare back at him as his expression closed, shrouding the emotions she could only guess at in his eyes. He licked his lips, and, very slowly, each movement stiff and painful, he began to rise. But he didn’t move from his spot. 

“Arnora…?” 

Nora shook her head. “No,” she whispered, her own voice hoarse. “Just Nora.” 

Nathaniel blinked, and his jaw clenched beneath his beard as he drank her in. He swallowed again, hands balling into fists at his side, when the crunch of snow gave Nora the excuse to look away. Thorald stomped back inside the cavern, most of the soot and grime washed from his face. 

“Good. I was coming to wake ya,” he grunted. “The dragon’s gone, so we’d better make the most of it before the Thalmor hear what happened and come looking. I doubt we have long.” 

Nora nodded, sparing a glance towards Nathaniel to find him still staring at her. She swallowed and turned to where the bottles still lay in the snow, busying herself gathering them up. A few moments later, Nathaniel crouched beside her, holding the knapsack open. 

She paused, and when a moment later she started placing the bottles inside her hands were shaking, sloshing the liquids and making the glass ring. 

“I… sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he began, and her heart twisted because  _ god, _ he sounded like her Nate too. “You just look like someone I know.” 

“No, it’s fine,” but Nora’s voice cracked as she said it, and he was still staring at her. “You… you actually look like someone I know too.” 

“I do?” 

Nora nodded, placing the last bottles inside. As she fastened the pack shut, Nathaniel rose and stepped away to where the cloak still lay on the ground. Nora took a deep breath to steady herself, then pulled the knapsack over her shoulders, only to hiss at the weight on her ice burns. She sensed rather than saw Nathaniel look at her, but grit her teeth and joined Thorald at the cave mouth. 

A moment later, another weight draped over her. The cloak. 

“We Nords do better in the cold than most,” Nathaniel said firmly, striding outside before she could protest. 

“He’s right,” Thorald added. “You should probably take another sip of the resist cold potion, too.” 

“I’ll save it for the night,” Nora muttered, and followed him outside. 

Nathaniel was standing on the shoreline, facing the water though his head was turned west, to where black smoke smudged the pale clouds filling the sky. In the light of day, Nora could see that much of the snow had been blown from trees and melted down into sludge by the dragon’s heat. 

Some trees in the distance were snapped, their tops fallen to the ground and the trunks spearing at the sky like snapped bones. 

“I take it we’ll be heading East?” Thorald prompted, and Nathaniel turned to face them. His gaze lingered on Nora a heartbeat too long before he turned his eyes to Thorald with a nod. 

“Aye. Looks like we’re on the wrong side of the Druadachs. We’ll have to find a way around the mountains, and hope we don’t run into any Imperial patrols.” 

“Or dragons, or Thalmor, or wolves, or trolls,” Thorald listed off in a grumble. “And that’s if we don’t starve to death, first.” 

Nora huddled deeper under her cloak, and Nathaniel forced a smile. “That’s the attitude, Thorald! Remind yourself of why we gotta keep moving.” 

At Thorald’s suggestion, they each took a drink of a stamina draught from the knapsack before they set off. The potion did little to fill Nora’s stomach, or ease the anxiety and thoughts racing through her head, but it did give her a burst of energy that allowed her to press on along the coast. 

At first, she couldn’t stop herself stealing glances towards Nathaniel, documenting every similarity and difference to her husband she could find. Several times he caught her watching, and several times she caught him watching her. 

But gradually, the landscape stole her attention. To her left the ocean reached towards the horizon with dark, clear waters clean of pollution. In the distance, she could see ice caps drifting in frozen islands, and further out what looked to be a distant castle, wreathed in mist despite the rising sun. To her right, snow-capped mountains reared in sublime majesty, haloed in clouds while a cloak of pure snow and green pines spilled down their slopes. 

She hadn’t seen such beauty in nature since before the war… 

“Enjoying the view?” 

She turned to where Nathaniel was now walking alongside her, his breath steaming in the air. Despite the painful twinge she felt, she managed a small smile. 

“Yeah. You don’t get beautiful scenery like this where I’m from. Not anymore, anyway.” 

“What’s it like where you come from?” 

Nora frowned, carefully picking her way over frozen rocks and roots. As they walked, the trees grew more dense and the land flatter, the slopes to the right more gentle so they had more room to walk. 

“Well, it’s a lot less green, more brown and gray,” she began. “There was a war. The Great War. I don’t suppose you’ve got atom bombs here?” 

Nathaniel shrugged, and beyond him Thorald frowned as he listened in. 

“Well, the atom bomb was a terrible weapon. It poisoned everything -- the water, the land, the people and wildlife…” she thought of the ghouls she had encountered, the disfigured creatures living in the wasteland, and the overgrown monsters that overwhelmed it. 

“What the bomb didn’t kill, it changed. We thought when the bombs dropped, nothing would survive it. We thought it’d be total nuclear annihilation, and that hundreds of years later our descendants might be able to fix it.” 

She thought of Shaun. Her small son, swaddled in his Jangles blanket -- and the cold-eyed man he had become. Cruel, calculating and dismissive of whatever and whoever didn’t fit into his ideal ‘future.’ She supposed that Vault-Tec hadn’t been entirely wrong. 

The thought made her sick. 

“Well, you survived.” Nathaniel prompted. 

“I did. Most didn’t.” 

“So, did your people come to Skyrim to escape your world then?” Thorald asked. “Sounds a lot like the Dunmer if you ask me.” 

“No -- I honestly don't know how I got here,” Nora shrugged. “What’s a Dunmer, anyhow?” 

“Dark elves,” Nathaniel answered. “You’ll know a grey-skin when you see one. They’re shorter than the high elves you met at the fort. Grumpier too.” 

“And uglier,” Thorald added. “You just can’t trust an elf. They’re all obsessed with magic and things. You ask me? That’s what caused the Red Year.” 

“Aye! You’d never catch a self-respecting Nord throwing magic about!” Nathaniel announced. “And look at us! Snow and ice in abundance!” 

“And dragons?” 

At Nora’s question, Nathaniel and Thorald shared a look before turning back to her. 

“That is a prophecy, and beyond our control!” Nathaniel sniffed. 

“A prophecy, huh?” Nora supposed prophecies went hand-in-hand with a land populated by elves, dragons and magic. 

“Maybe I’ll sing it for you when we reach a tavern, and I’ve had a keg of mead.” Nathaniel sighed wistfully. “Gods what I wouldn’t give for a sip of Blackbriar mead.” 

“Me too,” Thorald agreed. “Sitting in the Bannered Mare with a tankard of Blackbriar, a bowl of stew with a hunk of bread and cheese…” 

“Aye. Think I could eat an entire mammoth rib by myself,” Nathaniel grinned. Then he turned to Nora. “What say you, Nora? Do your people drink mead and eat well?” 

“We don’t have mead where I’m from.” 

A wooden  _ thunk _ made her turn, and she found that Nathaniel had walked into a tree. 

_ “No mead _ ?” Thorald demanded as Nathaniel staggered back, cursing and rubbing his cheek. “Whaddya mean ‘no mead?’ What do you drink?” 

“I told you, the bombs killed and changed most things!” Nora protested. The way they were staring at her, she might have a grown second head. “We have really old ale, moonshine and things, but there isn’t any honey there anymore. We had mead before the bombs dropped, but I didn’t have any.” 

“Shor’s bones!” Nathaniel shook his head, scandalised. “Never had mead!” 

“We can fix that at the first tavern we reach,” Thorald grunted. 

“Actually, I don’t really drink.” 

This time, Nathaniel walked into a branch.

* * *

  
  


They stopped for a break beneath a cluster of pines, resting their sore feet and catching their breath. The potions helped to keep them going, but it was already clear to Nora that they couldn’t last as they were. Much like chems, the potions were keeping them going for now, but what they really needed was food and water. 

_ Wonder if it's safe to drink here? Nothing looks irradiated. Maybe the food will be safe, too... _

“Hey! You two! Get over here,” Nathaniel whispered, beckoning for her and Thorald to join him. 

They had been climbing the gentle slopes of the mountain, but it was below them where he pointed. There in the shallow waters of the sea lay a shipwreck. It was constructed from wood, broken in two pieces with planks and structural beams jutting from the waters like splintered bones. A small camp lay in the ship’s shadow, set upon the beach. 

It appeared abandoned, no signs of life around the empty firepit or large tent, and no movement on the decks of the wreck. 

“Looks like a bandit camp,” Nathaniel murmured. “Probably got spooked by the dragon and fled.”

Nora squinted at the camp, but passed no comment.  _ It doesn’t look like a raider camp to me.  _

“Reckon it’s worth seeing if they’ve got anything we need?” Thorald asked. 

“Aye. Not sure we’ll get a better chance, either. We got any weapons?” 

“I was only able to grab this as we ran,” Nora replied, instinctively dropping her voice to a whisper as she drew the golden dagger. 

“I suppose it’ll have to do,” Nathaniel sighed, holding his hand out for it. “I’ll go scout ahead, and call you down if it’s clear.” 

“Are you sure…?” Nora asked hesitantly. 

“I’m an experienced scout. Trust me,” Nathaniel replied, flexing his fingers impatiently. “I need to go now.” 

Moments later he was slipping away from them, each step suddenly quiet and precise. She lost him in the trees and so held her breath, waiting for him to reappear. When he did, it was at the edge of the camp, large rocks sheltering him from view. 

Nothing stirred, and after a few moments, Nathaniel, keeping low, made for the tent. He emerged moments later, swiftly making for an improvised gangplank leading onto the ship. Nora and Thorald waited in a tense silence. 

She didn’t relax until Nathaniel reappeared on the deck, and waved his arm. 

“C’mon,” Thorald ordered, and the pair descended to the camp as quickly as they could. 

By the time they reached it, Nathaniel was struggling down the gangplank with a number of weapons, a knapsack swinging from his shoulder and chiming. He dropped the weapons -- a shortsword and an axe, in front of them, and then pointed to where a small boat bobbed on the water nearby, tethered to a rock. 

“Grab anything useful then get in the boat. Don’t be long.” 

Thorald snagged the axe, fitting the leather strap holding it to his belt. After a moment, Nora took the sword. 

Danse had trained her in firearms and CQC with knives. Aside from her machete, she had never wielded a large blade -- and she doubted she’d last long in a swordfight if these were the choice weapons of Skyrim. 

“Lose the dagger sheath.” 

Nora looked up from where her numb fingers were fumbling with the swordbelt to find Nathaniel was frowning at her, though his eyes frequently darted to the wooded slopes beyond the camp. 

“Why?” 

“Only Thalmor carry elven weapons like that. We don't want questions when we get back to civilisation. Besides, I already threw the blade overboard.” 

Nora felt a flicker of irritation, but discarded the empty sheath a moment later before heading inside the large tent. Bedrolls lay across the sand, and on a table was a small keg, tankards that were partially full of ale -- and large wheels of cheese. 

Nora’s mouth watered. 

The wheels themselves were heavy and too much to fit in her bag with the bottles -- but someone had chopped one of the wheels into wedges, which she quickly stole away with a rounded loaf of bread. She also swiped small piles of gold coins she found. 

She wasn’t sure what the currency for this world was, but they seemed likely to have worth. She wasn’t about to make the same mistake she had with bottle caps. 

After a moment, she grabbed some furs from one of the bedding piles and carried them out to the boat. Nathaniel had drawn it close to the shore with the rope, and he nodded approvingly as she stepped inside and laid the furs down. 

Then Thorald came sprinting towards them, his grey hair flying wild behind him. 

“They’re coming! We’ve gotta move!” 

“In the boat,” Nathaniel ordered, throwing the anchor rock inside. Nora dropped onto the farthest seat as Nathaniel sat in the middle, grabbing the oars. Thorald gave it a running shove, jumping in just as something hissed through the air, landing in the water. 

Nathaniel drew the oars in a broad stroke, shouts echoing through the wilds behind them. People were racing from the trees, waving weapons and cursing. A couple of them had bows. 

More arrows hissed through the air, but each went wide. Nathaniel kept his head low, drawing the oars with gritted teeth, each stroke moving them further from range until the bandits grew distant and the arrows stopped flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and showing your support! I really appreciate it and hope you're enjoying the story thus far! :D Thank you so much for the comments and kudos they definitely give me the drive to continue writing and a huge thank you to the awesome sunsolace for betaing! <3


	8. Chapter 8

A city loomed above the estuary, crowning a large shelf of rock jutting from the mountain. Nora stared in wonder, drinking in the silhouettes of walls and townhouses, the white sails of windmills and palatial towers that shimmered like lapis in the fading sunlight. It was beautiful, something that belonged in a fairytale, or a dream... 

“Hey. Quit lollygaggin’ and help me with this, would ya?” 

Nora turned from the vista to where Thorald was scowling from beside the boat. She smiled sheepishly and returned her attention to helping him roll up the furs into manageable bundles. 

“So, what is that place up there?” Nora asked, nodding towards the lofty city. 

“That’s Solitude, capital of Skyrim,” Thorald grunted. “It’s crawling with Thalmor spies and Imperials. We’d be swinging from the gallows in the hour if we went up there.” 

“Oh.” Nora dropped her eyes to the bundle she was rolling, before pulling it from the boat and dropping it on the rocks. “You don’t think it’s possible we could go up there and melt into the crowds?” 

“Well, you might pass for an Imperial if you kept your mouth shut,” Thorald shrugged. “But me? I’m a Grey-Mane. People know my family throughout Skyrim, and they know I’m a Stormcloak. Wouldn’t be long before an agent came after me.” 

“And what about him?” Nora jerked her head to the lone figure sat on a nearby boulder, where the ice and rocks of the shore gave way to the yellow grass and dark shrubbery of swampland. 

Nathaniel was hunched over, gazing off into the distance as he chewed on his rations. 

Thorald shrugged again, binding the furs together with the mooring rope from the boat. “Don’t know. He’s not a notable person or anything, but he’s still a Stormcloak.” 

Nathaniel’s head turned towards them, and Nora turned away before she had to meet his gaze, grabbing the knapsacks that remained. Her own pack was weighty with the last of the potions and the rest of the bread and cheese. The second pack that Nathaniel had grabbed was much heavier, and clinked as she jostled it. 

Frowning, Nora slung her own pack over her shoulder before opening Nathaniel’s. Her heart sank. 

The pack was filled with-- 

“Mead?” Thorald grabbed a stout amber bottle by the neck and pulled it from the bag. His weariness and fear seemed to melt away, his lips splitting into a grin beneath his beard. 

The rattle of stones prompted Nora to look up as Nathaniel stumbled towards them with a lopsided smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I see you found our most important supplies.” 

Nora swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. Her knuckles shone bone white, the leather creaking in her grip. As Nathaniel reached forward to help himself, she shoved the knapsack towards him. 

“Your booze, your bag.” 

“...Alright?” 

The second the weight left her fingers, Nora turned for the furs only to find Thorald had slung them across his own back -- and was taking a deep swig of the mead, his eyes closed in sheer bliss. She huffed, turning to gaze again at the distant towers of Solitude. 

The city’s silhouette was lined in the soft gold of the fading afternoon, the sky beyond washed out in soft pastel shades that heralded the coming of dusk. She turned back to her companions when Thorald sighed happily, wiping his mouth on his arm. Nathaniel’s previous good humour had evaporated, and he was watching her intently. 

_ Don’t look at me like that.  _

Aloud, she said; “We should get moving. It’ll be dark soon.” 

“And where are we going?” Thorald asked. 

“How should I know? You’re the one who said we can’t go to Solitude!” Her voice came sharper than she had intended, echoing through the wilds. She inhaled to try and cool her flaring temper. 

“We’ll head further inland for starters,” Nathaniel suggested. “We can discuss what to do when we’re less out in the open.” 

Thorald huffed. “Guess we don’t have any choice, but I don’t like the thought of being out in the swamps at night.” 

“Me neither, brother. But we don’t have a choice.” 

Thorald heaved a sigh before chugging the last of his mead. He threw the bottle aside to break on the rocks. Nathaniel gave him a wry smile as he uncorked his own bottle. Nora pressed her lips in a thin line and started picking her way across the rocks towards the swamp. 

_ He’s not my husband.  _

* * *

As dusk descended over Skyrim, so too did fog shroud the swamp. It rose from the black pools and waterways, a sluggish phantom that crawled along the ground, rising in billowing clouds that shrouded the world from sight. It muted sound, though Nora could still hear the chorus of crickets, the occasional flutter of wings and cries of animals. 

Initially the going had been treacherous. Now, it was dangerous.

Nora’s boots sank into the soft grasses, imprinting each footstep on the earth only for swampwater to bleed into the indent. Ahead of her, Nathaniel was little more than a tall silhouette, picking his way with the aid of a long branch. 

The sight gave her a painful sense of deja vu, old nightmares stirring where she had chased him endlessly through cloudy scenes, or through crowded streets. Always reaching for her husband, but never able to catch him. 

It was almost strange to think she could reach her hand out now, grab a hold of his tunic…  _ but he still wouldn’t be Nate.  _

Violent splashes interrupted her thoughts and she froze, eyes darting as they tried to pierce the opaque clouds. Something bellowed and brayed, and Nora knew instinctively whatever the beast was, it was fighting for its life. The cries became a gurgle, the splashes weaker -- and then silence. 

“Don’t like the sound of that,” Thorald muttered. 

“C’mon. We need to find a place to camp,” Nathaniel whispered, turning to look at them briefly before moving on. In Nora’s eyes, he looked more of a phantom than ever. 

Darkness was drawing in swiftly, and just as the last light began to fade, Nora glimpsed a new shape in the darkness. One with straight edges, partially concealed by the skeletal silhouette of trees. 

“What’s that?” she whispered, causing both Nathaniel and Thorald to still. They followed the point of her finger towards the shape. 

Nathaniel changed course, carefully finding his way towards it. The closer they drew to it, the more solid the shape became. By the time they crossed over a narrow stream, it had resolved itself into a derelict cottage. 

Shrubbery crowded around its walls while vines crept over the stones, their serpentine forms creeping across the sagging thatch roof. The windows were boarded over, and no light emanated from inside. 

The air around the house was fragrant, flowers blooming upon the shrubbery. And yet…Nora sniffed, her brow creasing. She was certain there was another scent beneath the cloying aroma of the flowers. Something familiar.

“Hello?” Nathaniel called. When there came no answer, he rapped his fist on the door. “Is anybody in there?” 

The house remained still. It was then Nora realised the world had fallen silent. No chorus of insects, not even a whisper of wind… 

She peered out into the thickening gloom, the fog swirling and flowing in its endless dance. Her nerves were singing beneath her skin, hair standing on end as she strained to sense…  _ something.  _ There was  _ something _ there. She was sure of it. 

A loud thunk made her whip around, just in time to see Nathaniel ram the door with his shoulder again to no avail. He jerked his head at Thorald. “Help me with this.” 

As the pair of them began slamming themselves against the door, Nora carefully unshouldered her pack and rifled through its contents, producing the bottle of torchbug treacle to provide some light. She watched the pair of them try a few more times before Nathaniel stepped back, rubbing his shoulder with a grimace. 

“That door ain’t gonna budge.” 

“Maybe there’s another way in,” Nora suggested, trying to shake off the eerie feeling as she began to circle around the cottage. 

The shrubbery around the walls was thick, bristling with the sickly fragrant flowers and thorns. Even if she spied a way in, it would exact a toll in blood and scratches. 

The few windows she saw were shuttered and boarded over, but by the light of the treacle bottle she spied a potential entrance at the back, where the boards were loose and falling away. 

A few moments later she was stood to one side, watching as Thorald used the haft of his axe to lever the boards away while Nathaniel held the glowing bottle aloft so they could see. With a few swings of his axe, Thorald damaged the shutters beneath so they, too, could be pried open. 

After a few minutes of work, the window was nothing but an open maw, lined with small teeth of broken glass. It was too small an opening for the men to get through, though Nora doubted she’d have much trouble. Well, no trouble except for the shrubs. 

“I’ll give you a boost,” Thorald said, his axe already affixed to his belt. 

“Be careful in there,” Nathaniel added. “Only witches and worse would choose to live in a place like this.” 

“Be on the lookout for witches. Got it,” Nora mumbled. “Let’s hope she doesn’t come ho- _ ome! _ ” Nora’s voice rose as Thorald grabbed her hips and lifted her up. The hem of her skirt still caught on thorns, but a moment later she was falling over the windowsill. 

She landed on a table. Unseen items fell, smashing and rattling away in the dark. Nora cringed. 

“You okay in there?” Nathaniel called, and the green glow of the bottle shone in the dark as he reached his arm through. 

“Yeah. I’m fine,” Nora lied, carefully sitting up. 

_ Something’s wrong here. _ She reached back for the bottle of treacle, grabbing it from Nate’s hands to wield ahead of her in the dark. She expected to see eyes watching her, reflecting the light. But all she saw were the silhouettes of furniture. 

The sense of watchful eyes did not abate. 

The air inside the cottage was heavy and oppressive. Crossing the windowsill had felt like slipping into ice water… 

“How’s it lookin’ in there?” Thorald demanded. “You gotten to the door yet?” 

Nora swallowed, shaking herself as she pushed off the table. She remembered a conversation she had once had with Danse, of whether he thought the pre-war ruins were haunted by ghosts.

_ “I’ve seen a lot of strange things out in the field, soldier, but trust me when I say that ghosts and spirits are pure fantasy. The only thing that can haunt you is your memory. If you’re seeing things, it’s likely fatigue.”  _

She stepped onto the floor and felt small, hard things under the soles of her boots. Probably what had fallen from the table. Holding her breath, Nora slipped towards the door with steps so light she made no sound. 

The door was covered in locks. Stout chains, padlocks, bolts and latches. They were unlocked in the owner’s absence, but the deadbolt inside the door still required a key… 

A metallic  _ thunk  _ had her spinning around, and there, on the floorboards behind her, was a key. Nora stared at it, frozen in place as her heart hammered and blood began to roar in her ears. The key was large, the bow decorated into a leering skull and the wards like skeletal fingers. 

Nora’s own fingers were bone white and sweating as she picked it up. She kept her eyes on the room as she fumbled the key into the keyhole. She wasn’t surprised when it fit, the bolt drawing back with a loud snap. 

The door immediately swung open, and Nora barely managed to duck away before it hit her. 

Thorald took one step in and stopped, casting his eyes about. “I don’t like this.” 

Nathaniel pushed past him, but Nora could read the tension in his shoulders and posture, even if his expression was stoic and half hidden in his beard. His eyes darted around the room. 

“Well,” Nathaniel said after a moment. “It’ll be safer than sleeping out in the wilds tonight.” 

Thorald looked almost longingly out at the clouds of fog and dark swamp, before closing the door and locking it. Nathaniel prowled about the room, investigating the shelves, and after a moment Nora and Thorald also began to explore. 

Nathaniel discovered some candles and the means to light them, providing much needed illumination to the gloom. A large bed lay at one end of the room, an assortment of shackles and chains fitted to the posts. The ragged furs and sheets that remained were filthy, covered in leaves, mould and a large, dark stain. 

There were more shackles affixed to otherwise bare walls, reminding Nora of the Thalmor dungeons. She shivered, the ice burns throbbing dully. 

“How about a fire?” Nora spoke up, disrupting the heavy silence. 

“Aye. Sounds like a plan,” Nathaniel agreed quickly, as though unwilling to let the silence fall again. 

They gathered the few stools and chairs they could find. Thorald set the furs they’d taken from the bandit camp in front of the hearth, and once Nora had cleared out old ash and ripped away the vines creeping down the chimney, they set the old furniture alight. 

Nora divvied out some more of the rations, and Nathaniel rolled a bottle of mead to each of them. Thorald cracked his open immediately, taking a deep swig. Nora pursed her lips and returned her eyes to the fire, leaving her bottle on the floor. 

“If you’re going to survive in Skyrim, you need to learn to drink.” 

Reluctantly, she turned to face Nathaniel. “I told you before; I don’t drink.” 

Thorald huffed and rolled his eyes. Nathaniel kept his gaze pinned to her. They seemed almost golden in the firelight. 

“Look. Nords don’t trust outsiders, alright? But folk who don’t drink with us?” Nathaniel shook his head. “We’d never trust ‘em.” 

“Can’t trust a man, woman or goat who don’t drink mead,” Thorald agreed. “Means they got secrets to keep, or are hoping to get you so drunk they can rob ya.” 

“Or it could just mean they have a bad history with alcohol and don’t want to touch it,” Nora bristled. 

“Don’t matter,” Nathaniel replied. “In Skyrim, if someone offers you a drink, you drink it. It’s an insult if you don’t.” 

“Besides, when was the last time you actually drank anything?” Thorald frowned, cocking his head. “Last drink I remember you having was a potion.” 

“Mead’s the best medicine for anything,” Nathaniel announced. 

Thorald clinked his bottle against Nathaniel's. 

Nora returned her eyes to the fire, leaving the bottle where it lay. The quiet settled once more, and Nora felt unease chase up and down her spine. 

“So, where do we go from here?” Thorald asked abruptly, and despite the queasy feeling the question brought, Nora found it an easier topic to face than whatever was wrong with the cottage. 

Nathaniel took another swig of his mead and shrugged, returning his eyes to the fire. 

“I have to find my people,” Nora said after a beat. She glanced at Nathaniel to find he was watching her again. “You said the Brotherhood of Steel were somewhere called Whiterun, right?” 

“Aye. At least that was the last I heard of ‘em. Though the gods only know how long I was a ‘guest’ of the Thalmor.” His eyes darkened and returned to the fire as he took another deep gulp. 

“My family hails from Whiterun,” Thorald said quietly, his large fingers tugging at the furs beneath him. “What I wouldn’t give to see them again…” 

“So why not come with me?” 

Thorald shook his head, his jaw clenched. “I can’t. I’m a Stormcloak, remember? My family would be punished for protecting me. I won’t risk it.” 

“Then where are you planning to go?” 

“I dunno. But I can’t stay in Skyrim.” He took another swig of mead, then glared into the fire a few moments before saying; “think I’ll head for the nearest Stormcloak camp, wherever that is. Make my way to the borders when I have the supplies and means to get out.” 

He turned to Nathaniel. “You should come with me.” 

Nathaniel frowned, taking another swig of his bottle. 

Three knocks sounded on the door. 

They jumped. All eyes turned to the door. They watched it with bated breath. 

Other than the crackling fire, all was silent. Nora swallowed, warily turning to look at the others who were still watching the door, hands on their weapons. She parted her lips to speak when she spied a hooded shadow, leaning in through the window. 

She leapt to her feet, drawing her blade. Before Nathaniel or Thorald knew what was happening, Nora rushed towards the window, cursing the cumbersome dress as the figure withdrew with lightning speed. 

She arrived to find the windowsill empty, though she kept the blade angled up towards it. 

“What’d you see?” Nathaniel whispered, already at her side. 

“Someone was climbing in,” Nora whispered back. “We should block it.” 

“Right. Keep an eye on the window. Thorald, help me move these.” 

As Nora stepped out of their way, keeping her eyes locked on the window, she felt the small things beneath her boots again and heard one of them crack. She spared a glance down, and at first she thought they were misshapen pearls, spilled from one of the jars she had broken upon entering. 

Then, as Thorald and Nathaniel dragged the heavy wardrobe across the window, Nora realised she wasn’t looking at pearls. She was looking at human teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya everyone! Sorry I'm being slow with replies (and kinda just absent elsewhere) but I've been stuck in a rut that I'm trying to break out of - so I figured I'd start that via working on something I love creating! I do read and am eternally grateful for all of your comments though and will respond when I'm able! Thanks so much for sticking with Dragon Sole, and I hope you've enjoyed this chapter! 💖
> 
> Big thank you to the wonderful Sunsolace for betaing for me! 💖


	9. Chapter 9

It was still dark when they fled the cottage. Throughout the night they had been plagued by strange happenings; the chains on the bed rattling, a person sobbing in the empty wardrobe, footsteps pacing when they had been huddled together on the floor. The last straw came when Thorald swore he saw half a woman’s face, peeking upside down from the chimney and staring at them. 

Within minutes they had packed up and left, leaving the door wide open behind them. It had slammed shut shortly after, but no-one turned around to confirm it. 

With visibility reduced to nothing by darkness and fog, Nathaniel led them as best he could through the murky nether-sky with the glowing bottle of treacle. It was treacherous to say the least. They tripped over roots and stones, stepped into sudden pools and streams and at one point, Nathaniel’s hand became entangled in thick, sticky strands that Thorald was quick to slice through before they retreated. 

“What was that?” Nora asked, studying the remainder Nathaniel tried to wipe away on some reeds. 

“Spider web,” Nathaniel scowled. “We’d best be careful we don’t run into any more of ‘em.” 

“... Just how big are these spiders?” From her own experiences with oversized wasteland insects, Nora decided not to question the existence of big ones. 

“The small ones are the size of dogs. The big ones, though? I’ve heard they can grow bigger than bears.” 

They stopped to rest when the sky lightened overhead, the fog turning pale blue before igniting gold and red in the sunlight. They huddled together for warmth as much as for comfort. None of them dared to sleep, though they were exhausted. 

Nora found herself reaching for her wedding bands several times, only for her hand to close on nothing. Her heart ached each time. 

When the sunlight burned the fog away, reducing it to ghostly wisps hovering over the waterways and pools, Nathaniel suggested they move on. 

Everything was covered in a golden haze, and with the world veiled in its soft light, Nora found the swamps strangely beautiful in their own way. The waters shone molten, glimmering in the rays while the previously dark and severe trees appeared brighter, the pine needles and leafy canopies waving in the morning breeze. 

The world seemed more alive. 

As they travelled, Nora caught glimpses of elk and deer grazing upon the long grasses, birds fluttering between the trees and water fowl paddling in the ponds. Nathaniel stopped her when they reached a river to point out a large rock, which, when he tossed a pebble towards it, turned out to be a very large crab that chittered angrily as it scuttled after them, waving its claws. 

“Mudcrabs,” Nathaniel grinned as they easily outpaced the crustacean. “Not really a threat if you’re not lying down, but they can leave nasty wounds, and the bigger ones can break your bones.” 

“How big are the bigger ones?” 

“Not really  _ that _ big,” Thorald shrugged. “Probably reach your knees at most.” 

“Anything like crabs where you come?” Nathaniel asked, and despite herself Nora gave him a wolfish grin. 

“Where I come from, the crabs are much bigger and nastier.” 

“How big is ‘bigger’?” 

“Try the size of a castle,” Nora answered. “Huge shell on its back that’s near impenetrable, and a head that projectile vomits acid potent enough to melt stone.” 

“That sounds made up,” Thorald snorted. “Besides, why don’t ya think of something more threatening than crabs?” 

“How about deathclaws, then?” Nora suggested. “Giant lizards with horns and teeth that are way taller than you. They can peel open steel with their claws like a can opener, they run like racehorses and they can think on their feet.” 

“Yeah. We have dragons,” Thorald countered. “They can fly.” 

As the three of them travelled and bantered back and forth, discussing the various horrors of both worlds, a man's scream shattered the peace, startling birds into flight as it echoed through the wilds. 

The three shared a dark look before gripping their weapons, warily trekking towards the commotion. Nathaniel led the way up a slope, dropping into a crawl to reach the crest. 

Thorald dropped down beside him as did Nora, though it was something of a struggle to crawl in the dress. When she joined them, she followed Nathaniel's glare towards a copse of trees in the near distance. 

There, backing towards the trees was one of Nathaniel's giant spiders, dragging behind it a struggling web sac from which the screaming came. The spider was only a little smaller than Nora was, and she couldn't suppress the shudder of revulsion that chased down her spine. 

"C'mon," Nathaniel murmured, drawing his axe. "We'd best not let the poor bastard get eaten." 

"Is there a particular art to spider hunting?" Nora asked, rising as the men stood up. 

"Yeah. Hack it til it's dead, don't get webbed up or poisoned," Thorald growled, drawing his own weapon. 

"Simple. I like it." 

Nora began to draw her own blade only for Nathaniel to hold his hand up towards her. "You stay here. Thorald and I have this." 

"What? But I -" 

The two Nords set off, and the look on Nathaniel's face brooked no argument when he glanced back to make sure she hadn't followed. 

As the Nords picked up their pace, splitting to come at the spider from two sides, Nora felt bitter frustration bubble inside her. In the Commonwealth, her own people were doubting her before the end. Now, in a whole new world, they didn't trust her either. 

_ Is there something weak other people see in me that I don't?  _

Danse had believed in her, at least. He'd always given her the opportunity to prove herself, and the guidance to succeed. She balled her hands into fists. 

When the spider sighted the Nords, it immediately released its victim and stood taller, rearing up on its four back legs to hold its front legs aloft in a menacing display. 

Nathaniel barked an order, and the Nords veered in opposite directions just as the spider spat a globule of venom. It landed harmlessly in the grass, and the spider hesitated a moment before scuttling towards Thorald at an alarming speed. 

Nora's breath hissed between her teeth as it charged forward, about to overwhelm him - only for Nathaniel to swing his axe and cleave into the creature's back leg. 

The arachnid stumbled, and Nora heard a high pitched squeal as Thorald struck at the beast’s eyes. The spider had no chance to recover under the rain of blows. By the time the storm of violence ended, both men were splashed in dark ichor. 

With their grisly work over, they advanced upon the struggling websack, and Nora decided she'd waited long enough. She stalked down the hill to join them, ignoring the tell-tale frown Nathaniel gave her. 

_ He's not Nate. Stop comparing them.  _

By the time she joined them, Thorald was carefully cutting away the worst of the webbing. When the strands finally broke, the stranger was able to struggle free. A blonde youth, no older than twenty. He was dressed in plain leathers, a bronze amulet in the shape of an axe head visible over his jerkin. 

He crawled backwards, panting and shivering. A sheen of sweat covered his bloodless face and his eyes darted nervously between them. His bottom lip quivered before he managed a hoarse; “Please don’t kill me.” 

“Kill you?” Nathaniel arched a brow. “Why would we do that?” 

“Then… you’re not bandits?” 

“Well, that’s rude.” Nora drawled. “I’m sure we don’t look  _ that _ desperate.” 

“N-no! No! Of course not! What I meant was-- was--” his voice trailed off as Nathaniel crouched beside him, and reached for the amulet. The youth became bug-eyed, and gulped. 

“You a Talos worshipper?” 

“I-- It was my Da’s.” He snatched the amulet from Nathaniel’s palm, hastily stuffing it under his jerkin. 

“That doesn’t answer my question, milk sop.” 

For a few moments the youth seemed to war with himself, fear and frustration marring his features. Then he finally met Nathaniel’s gaze and gave a small nod, projecting defiance in his voice. “Aye.” 

Beneath his beard, Nathaniel’s lips curved in a smile. “Then I say well met, friend.” 

He seized the youth’s arm and pulled him up as he rose, though the gesture didn’t go as smoothly as intended. Nathaniel stumbled slightly, and shook his head as though ridding himself of a dizzy spell. 

“You… you’re Talos worshippers?” The youth stammered, glancing between them before pointing at Nora. “Even the Imperial?” 

“I’m, ah… I’m not from around here,” Nora said, raising her hands. 

The youth frowned in confusion. 

“Don’t mind her,” Thorald cut in. “Being out in the swamp’s gotten her addled. But yeah, we worship Talos.” 

“You… You wouldn’t be…  _ Stormcloaks _ , would you?” The youth stage whispered. 

Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. “What gives you that impression?” 

“You’re travelling through the swamps instead of on the road, and you worship Talos openly. You also fought like true Nords, so I thought--” 

“Well, you ain’t wrong,” Thorald interrupted. “Me an’ him are Stormcloaks.” 

“But… where’s your uniform? Are you...  _ deserters _ ?” 

“We’re no milk-drinking cowards!” Nathaniel scowled, Thorald bristling beside him. “And stop whispering like that!” 

The youth flinched and raised his hands. “I meant no offense!” 

“Yeah, well offense taken.” Thorald scowled. “We ain’t deserters. We were prisoners of the Thalmor and we escaped. Now we need to find a camp and report back in…” 

“I… I’m on my way to a camp,” the youth said slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “My Da joined the Stormcloaks a few years back. Ma said I was too young to join with him, but given how bad Morthal’s gotten, she said it would be safer for me in the war.” 

“Morthal?” Nathaniel cocked his head. “Place always had a weird reputation, but not a dangerous one.” 

“It didn’t used to be, if you stayed in town,” the youth said quietly, picking away the last webs that clung to his clothes. 

“How would we get to Morthal from here?” 

“I thought you were headed for the Stormcloak camp?” The youth blinked. 

“We are,” Thorald frowned, his grey eyes boring into Nathaniel. 

Nathaniel heaved his shoulders, and then shook his head with a sad smile. “You might be, brother, but I can’t go back. I’ve had my fill of war, and all that it takes from you. Besides, they’d never let Nora into the camp, and I can’t just leave her to fend for herself. I owe her my life.” 

“You owe me, too, y’know,” Thorald grumbled. 

“Aye. But I know you’ll be fine from here on out. You at least drink mead.” 

“I’m still here, you know,” Nora frowned, though there was no heat to her words. Instead she felt dread, and some sadness at their parting ways. But also relief. She wasn’t being abandoned, and Nathaniel wasn’t leaving.  _ Yet _ , she reminded herself. 

Thorald’s shoulders slumped, but he gave them both a heavy smile. “You said you were headed to Whiterun before, right?” 

“If that’s where my people are, then yeah,” Nora nodded. 

“I told you my family’s from there. If you would, I’d be grateful if you’d take a message to my mother, Fralia.” 

“Of course,” Nathaniel said without hesitation. 

Thorald took a deep breath, and Nora saw his eyes were growing wet though he held the tears at bay. “Tell her…. Tell her to suffer the Winter’s cold wind, for it bears aloft next Summer’s seeds. She’ll know what it means.” 

“I’ll tell her myself,” Nathaniel promised, extending his hand. 

Thorald gripped his arm and pulled him into a hug, slapping his back. “Take care of yourself out there, brother.” 

“You too.” 

As they parted, Thorald turned to Nora. “As for you, do what he says, drink mead and you’ll be fine.” 

“I’m not helpless, y’know,” Nora complained. “I’m the reason we got out in the first place, remember?” 

“You are,” Thorald smirked. “But you’ve still got a lot to learn.” 

The youth, Haren, produced a map of the region. First he pointed out the route he was travelling to the Stormcloak camp, and once Nathaniel and Thorald had talked it over, they turned their attention to Morthal. It was denoted by a sigil of three adjoined tendrils, each curling in on itself. 

“It’s not too far away,” Haren said, pointing to the south-west. “If you make good time, you’ll be there by nightfall. A carriage comes every second Tirdas of the month. If you want to get to Whiterun quick and safe, you’ll want to catch it.” 

“Speaking of, what day is it today?” Nathaniel asked.

“Turdas, the sixteenth of Rain’s Hand,” Haren replied. “The carriage will arrive in Morthal in five days.” 

As Nathaniel counted out a share of their coin for Thorald, Nora sidled up to Haren. 

“So, when you said Morthal wasn’t safe, what exactly did you mean by that?” 

Haren glanced at their surroundings, his voice hushed. “Something just ain’t right in town. People are disappearing in the night, or dying under strange circumstances and the guard does nothing. Many more are getting sick, and the swamps were always dangerous, but now they’re worse than ever.” 

“Five days is a long time to spend in a dangerous town,” Nora frowned, hugging herself. 

“I don’t know what’s going on back there, but there’s one thing I can tell you.” Haren reached up, and clutched at his amulet. “Sleep with one eye open, and pray to the gods.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for reading, commenting and leaving kudos! I really appreciate it! :D We're moving on to Morthal next which might prove to be a pain in the neck and also feels really fitting given the announcement of Greymoor for ESO! ;D (Am I excited for more Skyrim? I am definitely excited for more Skyrim >:3c)
> 
> Huge thank you to the wonderful Sunsolace for betaing for me! ♥


	10. Chapter 10

Morthal was a town of two worlds, built upon land and water. Jetties and floating boardwalks formed a network upon a lake, offering pathways to the wooden shacks that squatted above the water on stilts, whilst larger buildings of stone huddled on the available land. Not many people walked the darkening streets, and Nora couldn’t help but think how strangely quiet the town seemed for its size. 

“Don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to sleeping in a bed and getting some real food.” Nathaniel sighed and rolled his shoulders with a wince. “Can’t remember the last time I had either.” 

“Do you think we’ll be safe here?” Nora asked, hugging herself beneath her cloak. Haren’s words lingered in her mind, as did Thorald’s speech about the spies in Solitude. 

“It’ll be safer than the swamp,” Nathaniel frowned, glancing back to her. “Unless you fancy finding another haunted cottage for us?” 

“It’s just… how badly do I stick out? What if there’s more of those gold elves down there?” 

“They’re called Thalmor,” Nathaniel corrected. “And trust me, they’d never dirty their boots stepping in this place. As for you sticking out…” he looked at her thoughtfully. “You could pass as an Imperial swamp witch.” 

“I --  _ what. _ ” 

Nathaniel’s grin lit up his face. “No! I’m being serious! You’ve got mud on your clothes, leaves in your hair, a frog on your shoulder…” 

“ _ Wha _ \--” 

“And people say we Nords are slow!” Nathaniel crowed, striding away as Nora turned back to pout at him. “Just stick close and let me do all the talking, alright?” 

“Not if you’re gonna call me a swamp witch,” Nora replied indignantly. 

“By Kyne! I’ll have to come up with a whole new backstory!” Nathaniel gasped. 

Nora’s lips twitched, and she followed him towards the town. 

They passed through a logging site, and the lumber mill that had felled the trees. A group of large, burly men were winding their operations down for the night, putting equipment away and removing the harnesses from sweating draught horses. The animals were skittish, ears flattened and feathered hooves pawing the earth. 

The men seemed equally uneasy, and when the first of them noticed Nora and Nathaniel’s approach, he nudged his fellow workers until they were all still and silent, watching the pair with baleful eyes. One of them spat as they passed. 

All in all, they reminded Nora of most wastelanders -- only these men didn’t have guns. They were bigger than most wasters, though. 

Nora quickened her pace to walk level with Nathaniel as he stepped onto a stone bridge, leading from the lumber mill into the town proper. A lone guard stood at the bridge’s centre, but he paid them no mind, instead staring fixedly at one of the shacks on the water. 

Ahead of them a wooden sign creaked on its post, announcing ‘Moorside Inn’ above a portrait of stars and a moon that was half eclipsed in shadow. The moon had a face, though only the pale side was visible, watching their approach with a vacant stare. 

They walked onto a sheltered porch, Nathaniel leading the way to the door. He crossed the threshold into the warm, smoky gloom beyond, and Nora followed him inside.

A blazing fire pit dominated the room’s centre, warming empty seats and trestle tables. Reeds covered the stone flag floor and the walls were decorated sparingly with crab claws, hides and the mounted heads of strange beasts. 

There were only a few other people inside; a woman sweeping behind a bar at the end, two men conferring softly at a table who fell silent upon their entry, and a… 

_ Goblin? Alien?  _

A large, burly figure was sitting alone in the far corner, humming loudly as he polished a lute. His skin was toad-green,and an impressive pair of tusks jutted from his lower lip, giving him a distinct underbite. In the light, his eyes glowed a deep orange -- which was when she realised she was staring at him. And that he was staring back. 

“Nora!” 

Nathaniel’s voice rang loud in the quiet, breaking the spell. 

Nora offered the goblin-man a weak smile before hurrying to where Nathaniel was leaning against the bar, the woman stood behind it ready to serve. Nora felt her cheeks burn as she drew closer, painfully aware of the woman’s assessing gaze. 

“If I had any other customers, I’d be afraid you’d scare them off,” the woman drawled, leaning on the counter with a smile. “Lucky for you that business is slow, huh?” 

“Lucky us,” Nathaniel replied with a weary smile of his own. “I guess that means you have plenty of rooms and mead?” 

“Also baths, if you’ve got some septims to spare.” 

Nathaniel held his hand to Nora for the coin pouch, which he deftly counted through before dropping a small pile of coins on the counter. “That enough?” 

The gold disappeared with a swipe of the woman’s hand. “Plenty. Now, will you be sharing a room or sleeping alone?” 

“Alone,” Nathaniel replied smoothly. 

Nora exhaled in relief. 

* * *

When Nora stepped from the large iron tub, she felt like a person again. She had scoured the grime from her skin, and washed the filth and grease from her hair with the floral scented soap Jonna, the innkeeper, had provided at extra cost. She had even sourced clean clothes for the pair of them, which Nora considered a godsend. 

Donning her ragged, travel-soiled dress would have completely defeated the purpose of bathing. 

She took her time getting ready, enjoying the peace and solitude of her room. It felt like she hadn’t had a moment to breathe since arriving. She worked the tangles from her hair with a comb and brush Jonna had loaned her, and then set about getting dressed. 

As she did, she found herself studying every scar, old and new. 

Most she had acquired shortly after waking up from Vault 111, and in the early days of her Brotherhood career. Being equipped with her own power armour had saved her from receiving many more. 

Life in the Commonwealth had been a steep learning curve, even with Danse and Gladius’ intervention. Now she felt like she was going to have an even steeper one in Skyrim. 

_ How can I survive in a world where elves can conjure fire and frost, and dragons burn down fortresses?  _

Once upon a time, she couldn’t have imagined a place more dangerous and miserable than the Commonwealth. Now, she had to wonder. At least Skyrim was beautiful to look at. 

Donning a blue roughspun dress and corset, Nora ignored the lure of her bed in favour of seeking food. 

She emerged to find the common room busier than when she and Nathaniel had entered, workers from the mill and docks nursing tankards of mead and ale, or wolfing down bowls of stew with bread. But the air was still subdued. Several of the locals turned to watch as she made her way to the counter, and she could feel their eyes boring into her back. 

Jonna turned away briefly, filling a bowl from a steaming cauldron before grabbing a small, round loaf of bread. 

“Slaughterfish stew,” she announced cheerfully, setting the food on a tray. “A Morthal specialty!” 

“Looks great,” Nora smiled, and she meant it. Her stomach growled with a newly returned appetite. 

“Trust me, it is. So, whatcha want with it? Mead? Ale?” 

Nora braced herself for another dramatic reaction. “Actually, do you have any water?” 

“ _ Water _ ?” Jonna blinked. “If you want water, the well’s in the centre of town -- but I wouldn’t recommend going to it now. It’s just not safe to be wandering town at night.” 

“Well, is there anything nonalcoholic?” 

“I mean there’s milk, but…” 

“Milk sounds good to me.” 

Jonna arched a brow. “You haven’t been in Skyrim long, huh?” 

“Nope, but it sure feels like it,” Nora sighed. 

With her laden tray, Nora turned to face the room. There was no sign of Nathaniel, so she made her way to an empty table in a corner and settled down to eat. She was halfway through wolfing down the stew when she felt the bench sink beside her and looked up -- only to find the goblin-man there. 

“Mind if I join you?” He asked, his voice deep and guttural. 

The bread she’d soaked in the stew suddenly felt hard and dry, but after a moment she pasted on a friendly smile, thinking of the friendly ghouls she’d encountered in the Commonwealth. At first they’d terrified her, especially after Danse and Rhys’ lectures about them turning feral, but she’d learned over time to see them the same as other people. 

And the goblin-man seemed friendly enough. Far friendlier than the other human customers, that was for sure.

“Please do.” 

The goblin’s lips curved, baring more of his teeth. “The name’s Lurbuk.” 

“Nora.” 

“And what brings you to Morthal? Don’t see too many new faces in these parts.” 

“Travelling,” Nora shrugged. “Me and a friend got lost in the swamps, and found our way here.” 

“Then the gods showed you mercy,” Lurbuk raised his brows. “Not many come back from the swamps. Especially if they get lost in them.” 

“I guess I’ve always been lucky in that regard,” Nora shrugged, soaking another chunk of bread in her stew. “What’re you doing here anyway? You a local?” 

“Heh. Very funny,” Lurbuk snorted. “I’m a bard, actually, trained at the Bard’s College in Solitude!” 

He puffed up with pride at the announcement, so Nora nodded along and tried to look impressed, presuming it must be something like an ivy league. 

Movement past Lurbuk’s shoulder caught her eye, and she glanced up as Nathaniel circled the table to sit on the opposite side. 

Her expression fell. Suddenly her appetite was gone, her stomach clenching so tightly she thought she might throw up. 

“What do you want, orc?” Nathaniel frowned, contempt written all over his features. 

Nora lowered her eyes to her bowl, knuckles bone white as her fingers twisted the wool of her dress. Their conversation was little more than a buzz in her ears, and she barely noticed when Nathaniel sent Lurbuk away with a gesture and scowl. 

Nathaniel had cleaned himself up. His beard was shaved back to his jaw, his hair cut shorter and combed -- and now, where certain similarities had been concealed, she could see them. Could see him, her husband, starved and battered and sickly, but-- 

Something nudged her leg, and Nora realised she’d covered her face with her hands. She looked up sharply to see Nathaniel watching her, his expression guarded and wary. “You alright?” 

Nora scrambled for composure, each smile breaking before she gave up and just shook her head, dropping her eyes. Something scraped across the table, and when she looked it was to see a bottle in front of her. 

“Drink that and you’ll feel better,” Nathaniel grunted. “At the very least it won’t make you a total milk-drinker.” 

Nora swallowed hard, but her throat felt the phantom chill of Vault 111’s air. She could imagine the ice crystals spreading inside her, tearing her apart from within. 

_ He’s not Nate. He’s not Nate.  _

Nathaniel for his part was silent. He wolfed down his own meal as she continued to stare at the table, petrified of seeing him. After a time, she reached blindly, the glass of the bottle cool and solid in her palm. 

She drank. She didn’t register the taste or the texture. She just drank, trying to wash away everything she felt. Things were better when you were drunk, right? Everything was easier to bear, or so Nate --  _ her  _ Nate -- had claimed whenever he stumbled through their door, reeking of whiskey and cigarettes. 

The bottle emptied quickly, and clouds soon rolled into Nora’s head. Her emotions were there, but dulled. Distant, and growing yet more distant as her thoughts became less cohesive. But they didn’t fade. Not completely.

And Nathaniel was sitting across the table, like the sun on the horizon. She couldn’t stop herself from stealing glances at him, but each time she did it hurt, the cracks in her heart webbing further. God, there’d be nothing left of it but dust, soon. 

She sniffed, resting her forehead on her palm and closing her eyes. 

Wood creaked as Nathaniel shifted on his seat, but he didn’t say anything. The tavern was strangely hushed with its many whispers; even the roar of the fire seemed muted, too quiet to drown out her memories. 

She sighed and dropped her hand to the table. Nathaniel was watching her, his eyes flashing autumnal gold when they caught the light of a candle. He was so achingly familiar, she could read him perfectly. 

He was guarded. Uncertain, shoulders tensed beneath his jerkin, lips pressed together and a faint pucker in his brow. 

“Why?” She finally asked. “Why do you look like… like my husband?” 

He stilled. He could have been a statue, his expression vacant, eyes staring through her. Nora ran a hand through her hair, anguish rising from where it had festered so long. 

“He’s dead,” Nora croaked, her voice a breaking whisper. “Nate’s supposed to be dead, and yet you’re here. You look like him, talk like him… You have his name? Why? What the  _ fuck _ is this?” 

Nathaniel sat up straighter, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He visibly steeled himself, hand gripping his tankard tightly. 

“You look like my Arnora,” he whispered, a slight tremor in his voice. “My wife, who should have been carried by Kyne’s wind to Sovngarde, or to Aetherius. Not here, sitting across from me in some tavern.” 

His eyes grew bright with tears, but he wiped them away on his arm. 

“Tell me. Tell me, in this world you come from… did you have a son?” 

Nora felt the breath leave her, and whatever Nathaniel saw had him leaning forwards, desperate and hopeful. “Shorn? Does Shorn still…” 

His voice faded into a distant buzzing, and for a moment she saw nothing, felt nothing but the cold, fathomless dark of oblivion. 

_ “NO! I’m not letting you take Shaun!” _

"Shaun he… he's alive but…" 

In what felt like another lifetime, she had seen the man her baby had become. The words stuck in her throat, coating it like ash. 

Only two people beyond the Institute knew of her son's true nature, the miserable tale slurred in drunken anguish atop Kingsport Lighthouse. She couldn't say them again.  _ She couldn't.  _

But Nathaniel didn't seem to notice there was more to say. His head was in his hands as he gasped, entire body shaking with the strength of his emotions. 

Nora braced her hands against the tabletop and rose, her head spinning. Nathaniel looked up at her, his cheeks wet, his expression raw… 

Nora weaved her way towards her room, the quiet suddenly too loud. She didn't let herself fully break down until the door locked at her back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I really hope you're enjoying it :D 
> 
> Huge thanks to my Wombats for betaing for me! Love ya!💖


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